B    M    IDM    5b2 


DAY 


GIFT  OF 
Harry  East  Miller 


'-^, 


vp-^^ 


/S? 


/ 


A  Night  and  A  Day-. 


ALSO 


APPLE-TREE  COURT, 


AND 


THE  WORTH  OF  A  BABY. 


BY 


HESBA   STRETTON 


AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY, 

150  NASSAU  STREET    NEW  YORK. 


L  I  ^  7  c.  :/ 


-•.    • 


«     •  • 


ft? 54^^ 


A  Night  and  A  Day, 


CHAPTER    I. 

There  is  no  part  of  England  more  unsightly  or 
more  marred  and  spoiled  of  its  original  beauty  than 
the  Black  Country,  the  great  coal-field  of  South 
Staffordshire,  which  stretches  into  the  neighboring 
counties.  Low  beds  of  smouldering  slag  lie  upon 
the  ground  where  grass  and  primroses  once  grew, 
and  make  the  air  heavy  with  the  fumes  and  stench 
of  gas.  The  tall  chimneys  of  the  forges  belch  out 
clouds  of  thick  smoke,  mingled  with  tongues  of 
flame,  which  hang  overhead,  slowly  drifting  with 
the  wind,  but  never  passing  away  to  leave  the  blue 
sky  clear.  The  soft  round  outlines  of  the  land 
have  been  broken  up  by  huge  stiff  mounds  of  slack 
and  shale,  for  which  no  man  can  find  a  use,  that 
are  thrown  up  round  the  shaft  of  every  pit.     No 

ivi81820 


4  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

leafy  trees  can  flourish  in  such  a  soil  or  such  an  at- 
mosphere ;■.  but  a  few  pale  and  stunted  willows  grow 
down  '"by  thV  ^d;gq  of  the  dark  and  noisome  pools 
l)[i!Aff:ijt  J;he.baj-rj2n  yaUeys.of  these  desolate  hillocks. 
'•High?  ^6\h»,  nit:  un'lrliQ  'ttfe  gibbets  of  olden  days, 
stretch  across  the  dreary  scene,  and  the  chains  they 
support  groan  and  creak  dolefully  as  they  wind 
slowly  up  and  down  the  dark  pits.  No' chirping 
and  twittering  of  birds  are  to  be  heard,  nor  the 
merry  cries  of  rosy  children  at  play  ;  but  instead 
of  these  you  have  the  deep  throbbing  of  many  forge 
hammers,  which  beat  like  the  feverish  yet  sluggish 
pulse  of  Mammon. 

But  upon  the  outskirts  of  this  despoiled  country 
the  riches  that  lie  underground  run  into  scattered 
veins  of  minerals,  that  pierce  under  the  green  mead- 
ows and  golden  cornfields  still  smiling  undisturbed 
in  the  sunshine.  Here  there  is  less  roughness  and 
ugliness  and  more  of  nature.  The  pitmen,  when 
they  come  up  from  their  dingy  work,  can  lift  their 
eyes  to  the  clear  sky  above,  and  to  the  hills  not  far 
away  clothed  with  leafy  trees.  They  can  cultivate 
their  own  little  gardens,  and  grow  southernwood 
and  sweetwilliam  to  wear  in  their  buttonholes  on 
Sundays.     In  some  places  there  is  only  one  shaft. 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  5 

or  two  perhaps,  sunk  a  mile  away  from  any  others, 
running  down  into  some  small,  separated  fragment 
of  the  great  coalfield.  Here  the  trees  grow  up  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  worthless  rubble  flung  about 
the  pit's  mouth  ;  and  the  lark  sings  its  song  within 
sound  of  the  clanking  engine.  There  is  no  more 
than  a  scar  or  two  on  the  face  of  the  country  ;  and, 
like  a  blemish  in  a  face  we  love,  it  grows  familiar 
and  dear,  as  years  go  by,  to  those  whose  home  is 
beside  it. 

The  miners  in  these  little  isolated  places  are 
very  different  from  the  rough  and  brutal  colliers  of 
the  Black  Country.  These  have  few  pleasures  but 
pigeon-flying,  and  stealthy  dog-fighting,  and  low 
revels  in  dirty  taverns.  The  men  are  little  better 
than  rough  bull-dogs,  and  the  women  are  still  not 
much  in  advance  of  savages.  But  among  the  coun- 
try colliers  are  families  of  quite  a  different  stamp. 
Their  grandfathers  or  great-grandfathers  heard 
John  Wesley  preach  words  they  neither  forgot 
themselves  nor  allowed  their  children  to  forget. 
Their  grandmothers  labored  to  learn  to  read  amid 
all  the  cares  of  a  family  and  the  hard  struggle  for 
life,  though  they  had  no  other  books  to  read  than 
their   Bibles   and   the   hymn-book.     The  families 


6  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

which  sprang  from  them  are  altogether  a  different 
race  from  those  of  the  rough  and  ignorant  savages, 
dwelHng  in  dense  masses,  where  the  mines  are 
thickest. 

In  one  of  these  separate  coalfields,  with  a  single 
old  shaft,  which  had  been  at  work  longer  than  any 
one  living  could  remember,  there  had  dwelt  for 
several  generations  one  family  of  the  name  of  Ha- 
zeldine.  The  same  roof  sheltered  them  that  had 
sheltered  their  forefathers.  All  the  men  had  work- 
ed in  the  pit,  and  some  of  them  had  died  there. 
The  old  garden  round  the  cottage  budded  and  blos- 
somed year  after  year  with  the  same  flowers  and 
fruit-trees  planted  by  the  first  Hazeldine ;  or  so 
nearly  the  same  that  if  he  had  come  back  to  it  he 
would  have  felt  no  shock  of  surprise  or  strangeness. 
The  square  hillock  of  shale  alone  had  risen  to  such 
a  height  as  to  hide  the  pit's  mouth ;  and  it  was 
thinly  overgrown  with  yellow  coltsfoot  since  he  had 
left  the  little  house  of  his  own  building.  At  pres- 
ent the  widow  of  one  of  his  grandsons  was  inhabit- 
ing it,  the  mother  of  two  sons  who,  like  their  fore- 
fathers, were  busy  all  day  long  in  the  hidden  gal- 
leries and  foot-roads  underground,  which  had  form- 
ed a  network,  crossing  and  recrossing,  and  twisting 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  7 

in  and  out  like  a  labyrinth  wherever  coal  had  been 
found.  Judith  Hazeldine  spent  long  and  silent 
days  in  her  quiet  cottage  while  her  sons  were  be- 
low ;  for  it  stood  quite  alone  in  the  shadow  of  the 
great  mound  of  rubbish  which  had  gradually  sepa- 
rated it  from  the  neighboring  dwellings.  But  when 
Reuben  and  Simeon  came  home  the  evening  hours 
were  too  short  for  all  that  had  to  be  said  and  done. 

The  two  sons  had  been  named  according  to  a 
custom  of  the  Hazeldines,  which  ruo  one  had  yet 
been  bold  enough  to  break  through.  It  was  half 
believed  that  some  long-dead  forefather  had  spoken 
a  curse  against  the  first  to  break  it.  This  was  to 
begin  with  the  names  of  the  sons  of  Israel,  and  fol- 
low them  faithfully  in  order  of  their  birth  ;  though 
it  had  never  been  known  for  any  mother  to  reach 
the  favorite  name  of  Benjamin.  Judith  herself  had 
not  had  more  than  two  sons,  but  there  had  once 
been  a  child  named  Issachar,  whose  grave  was  in 
the  village  churchyard. 

There  was  another  custom  and  an  heirloom  in 
the  family  which  gave  it  a  still  higher  distinction 
in  the  eyes  of  their  neighbors.  Old  Judah  Hazel- 
dine,  who  had  been  dead  more  than  two  hundred 
years,  had  left  a  favorite  black-letter  Bible  of  an- 


8  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

tique  binding,  and  with  silver  clasps  and  silver 
corner-pieces,  which  was  for  ever  to  become  the 
possession  of  any  one  of  his  descendants  who,  at 
the  age  of  fifteen,  could  open  its  pages  at  haphazard, 
and  read  off  aloud  the  chapter  that  chanced  to  lie 
beneath  his  eyes,  without  making  a  single  blunder. 
To  each  generation  the  difficulty  had  become  great- 
er, for  the  black-letter  fell  more  and  more  into  dis- 
use. The  later  descendants  of  Judah  Hazeldine, 
who  might  be  able  to  read  easily  enough  a  chapter 
in  an  ordinary  Bible,  found  themselves  puzzled  and 
baffled  by  the  odd  and  crabbed  letters  they  were 
bound  to  turn  into  ready  speech.  Reuben,  Judith's 
eldest  son,  had  tried  it  and  failed,  with  tears  of  dis- 
appointment smarting  under  his  cast-down  eyelids. 
That  was  seven  years  ago  ;  and  it  would  soon  be 
Simeon's  turn  to  prove  his  scholarship,  for  he  would 
be  fifteen  in  a  week  or  two. 

Judith  had  set  her  heart  upon  her  younger  boy 
gaining  the  coveted  heirloom.  He  was  the  head 
scholar  in  the  Sunday-school,  and  had  repeated  the 
whole  of  a  long  chapter  at  the  Sunday-school  anni- 
versary, in  the  face  of  all  the  congregation,  without 
missing  a  single  word.  Her  heart  had  been  swell- 
ing with  pride  and  pleasure  as  he  went  triumphant- 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  9 

ly  forward  from  verse  to  verse,  though  she  would 
take  no  notice  of  Reuben  nudging  her  elbow  as  if 
he  were  putting  in  the  full  stops  which  were  being 
left  out  by  Simeon.  Why  should  not  the  lad  win 
the  old  black-letter  Bible  ?  He  was  a  better  scholar 
than  Reuben,  though  Reuben  was  a  good  son,  ay, 
the  best  of  sons.  She  was  a  very  happy  woman 
for  a  widow,  she  said  to  herself.  Reuben  was  the 
best  of  sons,  but  Simeon  was  the  better  scholar ; 
Simeon  could  not  fail  to  win  the  Bible. 

There  was  the  more  reason  why  Simeon  must 
not  fail  to  win  it,  as  the  present  owner  was  on  the 
point  of  emigrating,  and  no  one  knew  exactly  how 
to  act  in  this  unforeseen  emergency.  It  had  not 
entered  the  head  of  old  Judah  Hazeldine,  who  had 
certainly  never  even  heard  of  Australia,  to  dream 
of  any  of  his  descendants  wandering  so  far  away 
from  the  ancient  home.  He  might  otherwise  have 
made  some  provision  against  the  difficulty.  If  the 
Bible  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  world  would  it 
ever  come  back  to  England  ?  There  had  been  a 
good  deal  of  talk  up  and  down  the  country,  among 
the  Hazeldines,  as  to  what  ought  to  be  done  ;  but 
no  one  could  see  the  way  clearly.  Levi  Hazeldine 
was  not  willing  to  give  it  up  unless  the  conditions 

2 


lo  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

were  fulfilled.  He  had  won  it  himself  more  than 
thirty  years  ago,  and  had  held  it  ever  since  for  lack 
of  any  successful  competitor.  The  only  concession 
he  would  make  was  to  delay  his  voyage  for  a  few 
weeks  until  Simeon  should  reach  the  stipulated 
age,  and  declare  himself  ready  for  the  trial. 

"It's  not  as  I  set  much  store  by  the  Bible," 
said  Levi  sarcastically.  "Why,  the  Bible's  just 
like  a  bone  thrown  among  a  pack  o'  curs.  You 
Christians  are  always  a-snarlin'  over  it,  and  pullin' 
it  about,  and  snatchin'  a  morsel  off  it  here  and  an- 
other morsel  there.  You  can  always  get  up  a  dog- 
fight over  the  Bible.  It's  likely  a  man  of  sense 
like  me  'ud  value  it !" 

Levi  had  been  a  greater  traveller  than  any 
other  of  the  Hazeldines,  and  was  looked  up  to  as  a 
man  of  more  than  ordinary  knowledge.  He  could 
read  many  books  which  were  difficult  to  be  under- 
stood by  the  greater  number  of  his  neighbors.  He 
had  been  a  great  scholar  thirty  years  ago,  when  he 
won  the  black-letter  Bible ;  and  he  was  believed  to 
be  a  greater  scholar  now.  So  it  made  his  simple- 
minded  kith  and  kin  very  uneasy  to  hear  his  esti- 
mate of  the  Bible. 

"  If  you  set  so  little  store  by  it,"  said  Judith, 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  ii 

who  was  a  shrewd  woman,  "  why  jiot  leave  the  old 
Bible  behind  you  ?  We  'd  pay  the  value  of  the  sil- 
ver, and  welcome." 

"  It 's  not  a  Bible,  it 's  a  heirloom,"  answered 
the  wise  Levi ;  "  there 's  a  charm  with  it.  Those  that 
have  got  it  have  good  luck.  If  your  lad  can  win  it, 
it's  his,  and  the  luck '11  go  to  him  ;  but  if  he  can't, 
it'll  stay  with  me,  and  go  with  me  out  o'  the  country. 
It's  a  great  deal  that  I  '11  stay  to  give  him  a  chance." 

You  may  be  sure  that  Simeon  was  as  eager 
as  Judith  herself  that  he  should  win  the  Bible. 
The  lad  had  been  sharp  enough  to  get  for  him- 
self an  alphabet  of  old  English  letters,  and  had 
copied  verse  after  verse  diligently  in  their  char- 
acters. But  he  had  no  idea  of  what  chapter  he 
might  have  to  read.  The  usage  was,  to  blindfold 
the  candidate  and  lay  his  hand  on  the  closed  vol- 
ume, which  he  then  opened  for  himself.  Some  fa 
miliar  psalm  or  well-known  passage  from  the  gos- 
pels might  lie  before  him,  on  some  long  hard  chap- 
ter in  Chronicles,  or  the  still  more  unaccustomed 
words  of  a  minor  prophet.  He  felt  as  if  it  would 
almost  break  his  heart  to  let  the  old  Bible  quit  the 
country. 


12  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 


CHAPTER    II. 

Judith  Hazeldine  had  too  deep  a  sense  of  the 
importance  of  the  coming  trial,  not  to  signaHze  it 
by  making  a  solemn  feast  to  all  of  the  house  of  the 
Hazeldines,  who  were  within  reach  of  an  invitation. 
There  was  a  second  event  to  be  celebrated,  but  one 
of  secondary  consequence,  as  being  common  to  all 
families  and  to  all  conditions  of  men.  Reuben 
was  to  take  advantage  of  the  feast,  and  the  family 
gathering,  to  marry  Abby  Upton,  the  sister  of  his 
favorite  comrade.  Abby  had  helped  old  Judith  on 
baking  and  washing  days  ever  since  she  was  four- 
teen ;  and  it  seemed  hardly  a  change  for  her  to  be 
coming  to  live  under  the  same  roof,  as  Reuben's 
wife. 

Under  the  roof  literally  they  were  to  live,  in  a 
large  spare  attic,  with  strong  beams  of  old  oak, 
black  with  age,  forming  sharp  angles  under  the 
thatch,  and  with  a  lattice  window  deep  set  in  the 
southern  gable,  looking  out  upon  the  garden,  and 
the  wood  beyond,  which  climbed  up  a  gentle  slope, 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  13 

and  traced  its  green  branches  clear  against  the  sky. 
Reuben  and  Abby  had  both  been  as  busy  as  the 
swallows  under  the  eaves  about  this  homely  little 
nest  of  theirs.  It  was  Reuben  who  had  papered 
every  small  clear  space  in  the  irregular  walls,  with 
a  paper  that  had  a  pattern  of  sweet  peas  and  roses 
running  all  over  it ;  and  it  was  he  who  had  bought 
some  pots  of  rare  hothouse  flowers  for  the  broad 
low  window  sill.  But  it  was  Abby  who  had  scrub- 
bed the  floor  white,  and  removed  every  speck  and 
stain  from  the  old-fashioned  furniture.  There  had 
been  a  good  share  of  deep  though  unspoken  happi- 
ness in  getting  ready  their  future  home. 

Reuben  and  Abby  were  quite  conscious  of  the 
secondary  place  they  were  to  take  in  the  coming 
festival,  and  were  quite  content  with  it.  Young 
men  and  girls  can  get  married  any  day ;  but  to  win 
the  Hazeldine  Bible  was  a  rare  event,  and  the  pres- 
ent circumstances  were  absolutely  without  a  paral- 
lel. The  danger  seemed  great  that  the  precious 
heirloom  would  be  carried  out  of  the  kingdom,  and 
carried  out  of  it  by  an  infidel. 

"  Reuben,"  said  Abby,  with  a  look  of  awe  on 
her  rosy  face,  "folks  do  say  as  Levi  Hazeldine 
does  n't  even   believe  as  our  Lord  was  born  on 


14  A  ALIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

Christmas -day.  I  wonder  how  he  can  think! 
There 'd  never  be  any  merry  Christmases  if  that 
weren't  true." 

"  Never  mind,  Levi,"  answered  Reuben  fondly  ; 
"he  hasn't  got  either  chick  or  child,  or  wife  nei- 
ther, to  make  him  believe  in  such  things.  It's 
mainly  folks  as  haven't  any  love  in  them,  that 
don't  believe  there's  a  good  God  who  loves  us 
every  one,  and  who'd  be  lonesone  in  his  almighty 
power  if  he'd  no  creature  to  be  fond  of  and  caring 
after.  Why  !  is  n't  Jesus  Christ  gone  to  prepare  a 
place  for  us,  somewhere  in  his  father's  house,  just 
like  me  making  the  attic  fit  for  you,  Abby,  here 
in  mother's  house  .•*  I  've  been  thinking  of  it  all 
along,  and  it  seems  somehow  as  if  I  could  see  him 
looking  all  about  the  grand  room  he 's  getting  ready, 
to  see  if  there's  anything  we'd  like,  that  has  been 
forgotten.  Levi  can't  understand,  for  he's  never 
loved  anybody  enough." 

"  Reuben,"  whispered  Abby,  with  her  hands 
clasped  about  his  arm,  "  I  shall  always  believe  like 
you  ;  you  are  so  good." 

The  day  before  the  double  festival  had  come, 
and  the  sun  shone  on  one  of  the  pleasantest  morn- 
ings of  the  pleasant  springtime.     Reuben  stayed 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  15 

away  from  his  underground  toil  to  put  some  finish- 
ing touches  to  the  attic,  which  was  to  become  Ab- 
by's  home  to-morrow.  Abby  herself  was  busy  over 
her  simple  wedding  gown ;  but  that  was  away,  in 
her  old  home,  and  she  could  not  hinder  him  by 
peeping  through  the  half-open  door,  to  see.  what  he 
was  about  Judith  was  deep  in  her  preparations 
for  the  great  dinner,  to  which  she  had  invited  her 
guests  ;  and  Reuben  could  hear  the  clatter  of  earth- 
enware, and  the  beating  up  of  eggs,  and  the  open- 
ing and  shutting  of  the  oven-door,  in  the  large, 
old-fashioned  kitchen  below.  They  were  pleasant 
sounds  ;  but  sweeter  sounds  came  to  his  listening 
ear  through  the  open  window.  There  was  the 
cuckoo  calling  from  the  woods,  with  a  note  softened 
and  mellowed  by  the  distance ;  and  the  throstles 
were  piping,  and  the  blackbirds  whistling  nearer  to 
him,  in  the  hawthorn  hedgerow  round  the  garden. 
The  low  southerly  breeze  that  fluttered  the  leaves 
of  the  Bible  and  hymn-book  on  the  window  sill 
brought  with  it  the  scent  of  lilac  and  gillyflowers, 
growing  in  the  borders.  Reuben  Hazeldine  felt  as 
if  he  had  never  really  known  what  earthly  happi- 
ness was  before. 

It  was   past  noonday,  and  he   was   still  busy 


1 6  A  NIGHT  AA^n  A  DAY. 

about  his  finishing  touches,  and  humming  little 
snatches  of  hymns  in  his  low,  deep  voice,  for  he 
was  a  famous  singer  in  his  parish,  when  he  sud- 
denly heard  Abby's  voice  calling  him  afar  off.  He 
stopped,  with  his  hand  upholding  a  hammer,  that 
was  about  to  knock  a  nail  into  the  wall,  and  listened 
eagerly.  Yes  ;  that  was  Abby's  voice,  clearer  and 
sweeter  than  the  throstle's  piping  note.  He  smiled 
to  himself,  as  he  wondered  how  far  off  she  might 
be  ;  and  he  neither  answered  nor  went  towards 
the  open  window,  that  he  might  hear  her  calling 
him  again.  Then  there  came  a  nearer  and  a  shrill- 
er call,  and  his  quick  ear  caught  the  ring  of  fear  in 
it.  He  stretched  himself  half  through  the  little 
casement  in  the  gable,  and  saw  her  flying  down  the 
bank,  which  hid  the  pit  mouth  from  him,  as  if  she 
was  in  an  agony  of  terror.  But  the  moment  she 
caught  sight  of  him  she  stopped  herself  in  her 
headlong  flight,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him  ; 
and  he  heard  her  crying  mournfully  through  the 
still  and  sunny  air. 

"  Come,  come  quickly,"  she  called  ;  "  the  water's 
broke  out,  and  the  pit's  flooded." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Reuben  could  not  stir, 
but  stood  leaning  through  the  casement,  staring  in 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  17 

bewilderment  at  Abby.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
was  making  fun  to  frighten  him  ?  But  she  had 
quickly  turned  away,  and  was  climbing  up  the 
bank ;  while  his  mother  ran  down  the  garden  path, 
and  was  following  her  as  swiftly  as  she  could. 
Then  he  roused  himself  from  his  stupor,  and  hur- 
ried after  them.  If  it  was  true  the  pit  was  flooded, 
how  good  God  had  been  to  him ! 

That  was  the  thought  his  mind  fastened  on  at 
first.  God  had  saved  him  from  peril,  perhaps  from 
death.  If  he  had  gone  to  work  in  the  pit  this 
morning,  he  might  have  been  among  those  that 
were  lost,  if  any  were  lost.  When  he  reached  the 
top  of  the  bank  he  saw,  in  the  sunny  noonday  light, 
the  pit's  mouth,  with  its  black  framework  of  chains 
and  thick  old  timber,  as  he  seemed  never  to  have 
seen  it  before :  so  sharp,  so  distinct  it  stood  out 
against  the  sky,  and  imprinted  itself  on  his  brain. 
A  group  of  women  and  old  men  and  children  was 
already  gathered  about  it;  and  the  elder  ones 
among  the  boys  were  peering  into  the  shaft,  down 
which  the  truck  was  being  lowered  as  quickly  as 
the  little  engine  would  work.  A  knot  of  swarthy 
men,  who  had  just  come  up  from  underground, 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  group,  telling  their  story. 

3 


i8  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

Reuben  thrust  his  way  in  among  them,  and  stood 
listening  in  awed  silence. 

"  It  broke  out  on  us  in  the  Long  Spinny  foot- 
path," one  of  them  was  saying,  "and  we  ran  for  our 
lives.  Us  six  were  first;  and  there's  eight  or  nine 
more  to  come.  But  there's  old  Lijah,  and  Simeon, 
and  Abner,  they  '11  be  cut  off  by  the  flood.  They 
kept  together,  and  the  water's  out  betwixt  them 
and  the  shaft.  There's  no  chance  for  ever  a  one 
of  them." 

Reuben  heard  as  if  the  tidings  had  nothing  to 
do  with  him.  "  Old  Lijah,  and  Simeon,  and  Ab- 
ner !"  he  repeated  over  and  over  again,  half  aloud  ; 
but  he  was  quite  unconscious  that  he  was  uttering 
their  names.  He  seemed  to  see  them  quite  plain- 
ly ;  his  young  brother,  who  had  been  of  late  so 
absorbed  in  preparing  for  the  great  contest  for  the 
Hazeldine  Bible ;  his  chosen  friend  Abner,  who 
was  to  him  what  Jonathan  had  been  to  David  ;  and 
the  old  man,  who  had  been  like  a  father  to  the 
fatherless  boys.  He  counted  them  upon  his  fingers, 
mechanically  :  "  Old  Lijah  ;  Abner ;  Simeon."  His 
mother  shrieked  aloud,  with  a  very  wild  and  bitter 
cry ;  and  Abby  threw  herself  down  on  the  ground 
by  the  mouth  of  the  shaft,  calling,  "  Abner,  brother 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y.  19 

Abner  !"  A  second  cluster  of  pitmen,  some  cling- 
ing to  the  chain,  without  foothold,  was  ascending 
slowly  to  the  light  of  day.  Reuben's  bewildered 
eye  ran  through  the  number,  but  none  of  these 
three  was  there.  Then  he  shook  himself,  and  as 
if  he  awoke  suddenly  from  a  dream,  he  seized  the 
full  meaning  of  the  accident  that  had  happened. 
The  flood  had  separated  them  from  their  comrades, 
and  had  cut  off  all  hope  of  escape  from  a  terrible 
and  lingering  death. 

"  How  deep  is  it  t''  he  asked,  in  a  hoarse  harsh 
voice. 

"  Not  above  the  soles  of  our  shoon,"  answered 
one  of  the  men,  "  it  came  trickling  by  like  a  brook 
in  the  woods,  but  we  felt  scared  like.  There 's  a 
heavy  dip,  thee  knows,  before  you  come  to  the 
Long  Spinny  .siding." 

"Not  above ^the  soles  of  our  shoon!"  repeated 
another  of  the  men,  "  it  was  up  to  our  knees.  See 
thee,  Reuben,  look  how  deep  I  've  been  ;  and  it 
came  roaring  in  after  us  like  a  mill-dam.  It  '11  be  a 
fathom  high  in  the  shaft  to-night." 

A  dead  silence  followed  this  last  speech  ;  a 
silence  which  seemed  to  Reuben  to  continue  for 
hours,   so   terribly  significant  it  nvas.     Yet   there 


20  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

were  many  sounds  smiting  against  his  ear,  and  fill- 
ing his  brain.     The  cry  of   the  cuckoo  seemed  to 
shout  loudly  and  mockingly  at  him,  and  the  fitful 
creaking  of  the   chain  by  which   the  truck  hung 
over  the  dark  mouth  of  the  pit  grated  and  jarred 
upon   him.     He   had   never  felt  like  this  before. 
Life  had  been  so  dear  and  sweet  to  him  only  ten 
minutes   ago.     Ten   minutes   since    he   had   been 
singing  at  his  happy  work,  and  it  had  appeared 
only  right  and  natural  that  the  sun  should  shine  so 
brightly  and  the  birds  sing  so  merrily  as  they  were 
still  doing.     But  now  why  could  not  the  birds  be 
still,  and  the  sun  withdraw  its  shining  }     A  sudden 
darkness  and   calamity  had  fallen    upon  them  all, 
and  he  shivered  and  trembled  like  a  startled  child. 
"  I  shall  be  bound  to  go,"  he  said,  looking  round 
him  with  a  gloomy  and  stupefied  air.     He  was  the 
first  to  break  the  silence ;  and  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice  the  women  burst  out  into  sobs  and  cries,  and 
the  men  into  eager  speech.     Abby  and  his  mother 
clung  to  him,  beseeching  him  not  to  risk  his  life. 
If  Reuben  had  shrunk  from  the  danger,  they  would 
have  despised  him  in  their  hearts ;   but  now,  as 
they  read  his  resolution  in  his  mournful  face,  and 
the  few  words  he  spoke  so  hoarsely,  they  could  not 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  21 

let  him  go.  Fresh  numbers  of  eager,  anxious  men 
and  women  were  flocking  to  the  spot,  from  fields 
and  woods  and  distant  cottages,  for  a  rumor  of  the 
calamity  seemed  to  be  carried  by  the  soft  southerly 
breeze.  Levi  Hazeldine  was  among  them ;  and 
Reuben  saw  his  face  more  clearly  than  any  other, 
a  shrewd,  sharp,  sinister  face,  that  had  no  true  com- 
passion in  it.  Some  of  the  women  about  them 
were  calhng  loudly  to  God  to  save  those  who  were 
left  behind  in  the  flooded  pit.  Reuben  freed  him- 
self almost  roughly  and  impatiently  from  Abby's 
clinging  hands. 

"  How  can  God  save  them  if  he  has  nobody  to 
send  ?"  cried  Reuben.  "  There  is  n't  a  man  hving 
that  knows  the  pit  as  I  know  it ;  and  there 's  an- 
other road  out  of  the  Long  Spinny  siding,  if  they  'd 
anybody  to  guide  them.  Do  n't  you  see  that  I  must 
go,  if  there 's  a  bare  chance  of  winning  through  to 
save  them  .''  How  could  I  live  in  peace  at  home, 
and  think  of  them  starved  to  death  down  below, 
and  lying  there  unburied }  Abby,  mother,  can't 
you  see  how  wicked  I  should  be  if  I  could  leave 
them  to  perish,  without  doing  all  I  could  to  save 
them  r 

"  But  suppose  I  lose  you  both  !"  cried  Judith,  in  a 


22  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

shriU,  quavering  voice  ;  "  suppose  thee  comes  back 
no  more ;  never !  But,  O  Simeon,  my  little  lad, 
that  was  only  a  baby  a  little  while  ago  !  And  I  'm 
so  proud  of  thee !  Come  back,  Simeon ;  come 
home  to  thy  mother  !" 

"  I  'm  bound  to  go,"  said  Reuben,  stepping  on 
to  the  truck,  which  hung  over  the  shaft,  while  one 
of  the  men  ran  to  the  engine-house  to  lower  it. 
for  a  few  seconds  he  stood  there,  looking  round 
him  on  the  pleasant,  sunny  day,  and  on  his  old 
friends  and  neighbors  gathered  about  him.  Abby 
had  fallen  on  the  ground,  and  was  hiding  her  face 
from  the  light ;  and  his  mother  was  on  her  knees, 
torn  between  the  dread  of  letting  him  go  and  the 
hope  that  he  might  save  Simeon.  Old  Lijah's  wife 
was  crying,  and  blessing  him  amid  her  sobs  ;  while 
his  comrades  were  crowding  eagerly  round  to  shake 
hands  with  him,  and  bid  him  God  speed.  But  it 
was  all  over  in  a  few  moments ;  and  as  the  chain 
grated  and  creaked  over  the  windlass,  he  glanced 
about  him  for  the  last  time. 

"  Take  care  of  them,"  he  shouted,  as  he  felt 
himself  passing  out  of  their  sight ;  and  a  faint, 
broken  cheer  answered  him.  For  a  little  while  he 
could  still  see  a  cluster  of  friendly,  anxious  faces  look- 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  K  23 

ing  after  him.  "  God  bless  you  !"  he  called  to  them. 
He  could  hear  them  yet  when  he  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  the  shaft,  though  the  round  opening  above 
him  was  but  as  a  very  little  ring  of  light  in  the 
midst  of  deep  darkness. 

"  All  right !  I  '11  be  back  in  an  hour,  please 
God  !"  he  shouted  again,  as  he  looked  up  to  the 
small,  bright  spot  overhead.  Then  he  plunged  into 
one  of  the  yawning  caverns  that  opened  before  him. 


24  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  pit  was  more  familiar  to  Reuben  Hazel- 
dine  than  the  woods  and  lanes  of  the  country  over 
ground.  It  was  a  very  ancient  one ;  how  long  it 
had  been  worked  nobody  could  tell,  but  for  genera- 
tions back  there  had  been  a  small  though  regular 
output  of  coal,  which  had  been  just  worth  digging 
for,  along  the  winding  and  narrow  veins  of  the 
mineral.  There  had  been  no  more  money  spent 
upon  it  than  the  absolutely  necessary  outlay ;  and 
most  of  the  old  disused  footways  had  been  allowed 
to  sink  in,  making  little  dells  and  dimples  in  the 
woods  overhead,  where  the  earliest  primroses  and 
violets  were  blooming,  as  Reuben  threaded  his 
darksome  way  underground.  He  found  himself 
really  more  at  home  in  these  black  and  winding 
galleries  than  in  the  green  tangle  of  the  brushwood 
above  ground,  for  while  he  was  still  a  mere  child 
his  father  had  often  taken  him  down  the  pit,  to  ac- 
custom him  to  its  darkness  and  its  perils.  He 
could  recollect  strolling  about  it,  holding  his  fa- 
ther's  hand   and   lighted   by  his   lamp,  while   he 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY,  25 

learned  every  footway  and  siding,  as  if  they  had 
been  the  streets  and  thoroughfares  of  some  town. 
He  could  remember,  too,  how  his  father  had  told 
him  stories  of  men  whose  sense  of  comradeship 
had  been  so  strong  in  them  that  they  held  their 
lives  cheap  in  comparison  with  the  shame  of  leav- 
ing their  fellow-workmen  or  their  kinsfolk  in  peril. 
One  miserable  man  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  as 
having  saved  his  own  life  at  the  sacrifice  of  an- 
other's ;  and  Reuben  still  felt  the  shuddering  hor- 
ror and  aversion  with  which  he  had  regarded  him 
when  he  was  himself  a  boy.  As  he  hurried  along 
his  rough  dark  road  as  swiftly  as  possible,  the  tones 
of  his  father's  voice  seemed  to  be  sounding  plainly 
in  his  ears,  saying  over  and  over  again  the  familiar 
words :  "  He  laid  down  His  life  for  us ;  and  we 
ought  to  lay  down  our  lives  for  the  brethren." 
Once  Reuben  paused  for  a  single  instant,  and  said 
half  aloud,  "  Yes,  father!  I'll  do  it." 

Before  many  minutes  had  passed  he  reached 
that  dip  in  the  narrow  roadway,  which  must  be 
passed  through  before  he  could  gain  the  Long 
Spinny  siding.  For  the  last  hundred  yards  or  so 
the  water  had  been  up  to  his  knees,  and  at  every 
step  now  he  felt  himself  sinking  into  it  more  deep- 


26  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

\y  ;  but,  whether  because  the  flood  was  rising  or  the 
path  sloping,  he  could  hardly  tell.  Yet  his  safety, 
his  return  to  light  and  life,  depended  almost  utterly 
on  this.  In  no  part  of  his  course  had  the  current 
been  so  strong  as  to  show  that  the  breach  through 
which  it  had  broken  was  very  large.  He  recollected 
only  a  few  days  ago  listening  to  the  sullen  murmur 
and  gurgle  of  imprisoned  waters,  which  had  never 
sparkled  in  the  sunlight,  beating  against  the  thin 
wall  of  rock  left  between  them  and  the  spot  where 
he  was  at  work.  A  single  blow  of  his  pickaxe 
would  have  released  them.  The  question  was 
whether  it  had  been  some  small  darksome  tank, 
that  would  be  soon  exhausted ;  or  some  immense 
and  hidden  reservoir  of  a  hundred  subterranean 
springs,  which  must  break  down  the  frail  barrier, 
and  pour  itself  in  resistless  force  along  the  winding 
level  of  the  pit.  He  could  not  solve  this  question  ; 
but  there  was  not  an  instant  to  lose.  The  dipping 
footpath  must  be  trodden  ;  even  if  he  could  lead 
his  friends  back  to  the  shaft  by  that  other  and 
longer  way  of  which  he  had  spoken. 

His  safety-lamp,  which  he  had  fastened  securely 
in  the  front  of  his  cap,  cast  a  pale  glimmer  of  light 
upon    the    slowly    whirling   water   into   which   he 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 


27 


plunged  ;  and  the  tremulous  gleam  which  qui  veered 
before  him,  and  upon  the  low  roof  above  him,  ap- 
peared almost  more  terrible  than  utter  darkness 
would  have  been.  As  he  moved  on  through  the 
deepening  stream,  he  could  hear  louder  and  louder 
the  gloomy  sound  of  a  torrent  surging  through 
a  narrow  outlet,  as  if  the  sluices  of  some  great 
water-course  had  been  opened.  It  was  an  inexpres- 
sibly mournful  and  threatening  sound.  His  heart 
failed  him ;  and  he  stood  still  for  a  few  seconds 
thinking. 

The  flood  was  swirling  around  him,  and  the  pale 
sinister  light  of  his  lamp  fell  upon  the  eddying  waters 
before  him.  The  roof  was  low,  and  not  far  from 
where  he  stood  the  reflection  of  his  light  seemed  to 
show  that  the  flood  already  touched  it,  cutting  off 
his  access  to  his  friends.  The  chance  of  saving 
them  was  so  small,  would  it  not  be  wiser,  was  it  not 
his  duty,  to  retrace  his  steps  while  there  was  yet 
time }  There  were  Abby  and  his  mother  to  think 
of.  Behind  him  lay  the  daylight  and  his  pleasant 
home,  and  Abby  so  unutterably  precious  to  him  ; 
while  before  him  was  deadly  risk,  and  a  mere 
chance  of  making  his  way  to  his  comrades.  Even  if 
he  should  succeed  in  joining  them,  it  might  be  only 


28  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

to  share  their  fate  and  die  slowly  of  hunger,  should 
the  flood  cut  them  off  from  the  shaft,  and  yet  not 
reach  their  higher  place  of  miserable  and  fatal  ref- 
uge. Surely  it  was  his  duty  to  go  back  while  going 
back  was  possible. 

He  did  not  linger  more  than  a  few  seconds. 
"  He  laid  down  His  life  for  us,  and  we  ought  to  lay 
down  our  lives  for  the  brethren,"  came  to  him  again, 
as  if  spoken  by  One  who  had  a  right  to  demand  the 
sacrifice.  With  a  deep  drawn  breath  he  marched 
forward  into  the  gloomy  black  stream.  A  swift 
current  of  air,  sweeping  along  the  surface  of  the 
water,  blew  his  hair  into  his  eyes,  and  made  the 
flame  of  his  lamp  quiver.  If  that  went  out  he 
would  be  left  in  utter  darkness.  He  felt  a  little 
bewildered  too  ;  the  long  galleries  and  sidings,  per- 
fectly familiar  to  him,  seemed  strange  now  that  they 
were  flooded  and  there  was  only  a  low  archway  of 
a  foot  or  so  visible  above  the  water.  He  could 
scarcely  tell  whereabouts  he  was.  The  path  was 
still  tending  downward,  and  the  flood  rising  higher 
about  him.  Now  it  was  breast  high.  A  few  steps 
farther  on,  and  he  could  only  keep  his  mouth  above 
it  by  stretching  himself  as  upright  as  possible.  If 
his  feet  did  not  touch  rising  ground  in  half  a  dozen 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  K  29 

paces,  his  lamp  must  be  put  out,  even  if  he  strug- 
gled through  himself  in  safety.  To  go  back  now 
was  difficult  as  to  go  forward.  But  there  was  no 
longer  any  question  in  his  mind  as  to  going  back. 
He  knew  that  the  end  was  near  at  hand,  and  a  few 
seconds  only  would  decide  it. 

They  were  a  few  seconds  of  intense  anxiety; 
but  his  feet  soon  felt  the  ground  rising  beneath 
them,  and  he  knew  that  the  victory  was  his  own. 
A  rapture  of  joy,  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before, 
rushed  through  him.  In  another  five  minutes  he 
would  reach  the  siding,  where  his  lost  comrades 
were  waiting  in  despair  for  their  inevitable  fate. 
He  fancied  he  could  see  their  faces,  lit  up  by  the 
light  of  their  safety-lamps,  turning  towards  him  as 
he  drew  near  to  save  them  from  death.  They  were 
all  very  dear  to  him ;  but  they  had  never  seemed 
so  dear  to  him  as  at  this  moment.  The  peril  he 
had  come  through  was  so  great,  and  he  had  so  fully 
conquered  the  temptation  to  leave  them  in  their 
woe,  that  his  own  love  for  them  had  deepened  a 
hundred  fold.  In  another  minute  or  two  he  would 
hear  their  voices,  and  feel  their  hands  clasping  his  ; 
and  he  would  lead  them  by  a  safe  way  to  the  day- 
light, and  the  safety,  and  the  life  above. 


30  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

He  was  hurrying  on  breathlessly,  for  there  was 
even  now  no  time  to  lose.  But  presently  he  hesi- 
tated, and  looked  around  him  with  a  gesture  of  be- 
wilderment and  an  air  of  anxious  inspection.  The 
water  was  still  knee  deep,  and  the  rough  walls  of 
rock  and  the  low  roof  which  hemmed  him  in  would 
have  appeared  to  any  other  eyes  exactly  the  same 
as  all  the  other  galleries  and  passages  of  the  old 
mine.  But  the  difference  was  plain  to  him  ;  he 
had,  in  his  hurry  and  perplexity,  missed  his  way. 
This  was  not  the  Long  Spinny  siding,  where  his 
young  brother  and  his  comrades  had  been  at  work, 
and  from  which  a  safe  though  circuitous  route  led 
to  the  foot  of  the  shaft  where  his  mother  and  Abby 
were  waiting  and  praying  for  them.  It  was  a  blind 
cutting,  long  ago  deserted,  far  away  from  the  shaft, 
and  with  the  flood  already  filling  up  and  surging 
through  the  roadway  by  which  alone  he  could  have 
returned.     He  was  lost,  and  he  had  saved  no  one  ! 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  31 


CHAPTER    IV. 

No  one  stirred  from  the  mouth  of  the  pit. 
Reuben  had  promised  to  be  back  in  an  hour's  time  ; 
and  though  many  more  spectators  gathered  to  the 
spot,  not  a  soul  could  leave  it.  The  men  and  boys 
still  clustered  about  the  very  edge,  looking  down 
anxiously  into  the  darkness  below,  and  ready  to 
catch  the  faintest  sound.  Judith  Hazeldine  and 
old  Lijah's  wife  sat  together,  sobbing  and  praying; 
while  Abby  crouched  on  the  ground  near  them, 
hiding  her  face  from  the  sight  of  all,  and  from  the 
mocking,  garish  light  of  the  sun.  "  God  take  care 
of  my  Reuben,"  were  the  only  words  she  could 
think  of.  She  had  never  been  down  into  the  pit, 
and  the  darkness  there  seemed  terrible  to  her. 
There  was  very  little  talking  going  on  around  her  ; 
and  those  who  spoke  at  all  whispered.  But  she 
would  not  have  heard  them  if  they  had  talked 
loudly.  She  did  not  hear  the  merry  sounds  of  a 
spring  evening  which  filled  the  air,  the  carolling  of 
the  birds  calling  to  one  another  from  the  topmost 


32  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

branches  of  the  trees,  and  the  bleating  of  the  young 
lambs  in  the  meadows,  and  the  lowing  of  the  cows 
as  they  trod  slowly  along  the  lanes  towards  their 
stalls.  The  heavy  minutes  dragged  by,  and  Abby 
saw  only  a  great  darkness,  and  heard  nothing  save 
the  cry  of  her  own  heart. 

But  she  was  among  the  first  that  caught  the 
sound  of  a  shout,  faint  and  smothered  as  it  was 
that  came  up  from  the  gloomy  depths  below.  It 
was  a  little  over  an  hour  since  Reuben  had  disap- 
peared from  their  sight.  Yes !  Surely  that  was 
the  shout  of  men  saved  from  a  terrible  doom  !  In 
an  instant  the  spell  that  had  kept  the  crowd  silent 
was  broken.  The  women  cried  and  laughed  in  the 
same  breath.  The  men  shouted  hurrah,  and  shook 
hands  joyfully  with  those  nearest  to  them.  Abby 
sprang  to  her  feet,  a  smile  dawning  through  the 
look  of  terror  and  despair  that  still  lingered  on  her 
face.  Every  eye  watched  the  chain  that  slowly 
dragged  up  its  load  of  rescued  men.  How  slowly 
the  old  engine  did  its  work !  and  how  noisily  the 
chain  creaked  and  grated !  But  here  they  were  in 
sight ;  here  they  were  in  the  blessed  sunlight  once 
more ! 

The  truck  stopped  on  a  level  with  the  shaft's 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V.  33 

mouth.  But  now  it  was  evident  that  there  were 
only  three  persons  in  it ;  the  three  that  had  been 
at  work  when  the  flood  broke  out.  Where  then 
was  Reuben  Hazeldine,  the  one  who  had  taken  his 
life  in  his  hand,  and  gone  down  to  save  these  .'* 
Silence  fell  again  upon  the  crowd,  which  lasted 
only  for  an  instant,  yet  which  seemed  long  and 
terrible,  until  old  Judith  cried  out, 

"  But  where 's  my  lad,  Reuben  }"  she  asked. 

"  Reuben  !"  they  all  cried,  in  one  breath. 

"Ay!"  answered  old  Lijah's  wife,  grasping  her 
husband's  arm  with  both  hands,  "  Reuben  went 
down  to  seek  you.     Hast  seen  naught  of  him  .?" 

"  Nay  !"  he  said,  "  we  fled  for  our  lives,  and  did 
not  tarry.  We  'scaped  with  the  skin  of  our  teeth 
only.  There  was  a  road  none  knew  of  save  me, 
and  I  guided  the  other  twain  along  it.  Wherefore 
did  Reuben  come  ?" 

"  He  thought  as  nobody  knew  of  that  road  save 
him,"  sobbed  his  wife,  "and  he's  down  in  the  pit 
seeking  to  save  you." 

Once  more  the  silence  of  awe  and  terror  fell 
upon  them  all.  Three  were  saved,  but  one  was 
lost ;  and  he  who  had  been  chief  and  foremost  in 
all  their  hearts  for  the  last  hour,  excepting  in  the 

5 


34  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

heart  of  the  old  woman  who  was  clasping  her  hus- 
band's arm  as  if  she  could  never  let  it  go. 

"  Who  will  go  down  after  my  lad  Reuben  ?" 
cried  Judith,  mournfully. 

"  There's  not  a  soul  can  live  in  the  pit,"  answered 
old  Lijah  ;  "  it's  too  late  now.  The  flood's  rising, 
rising.  Look  here.  It  was  halfway  up  to  my 
knee  at  the  foot  of  the  shaft.  If  he 's  not  here  in 
half  an  hour  there 's  no  chance  for  him." 

"  He  must  get  out,"  exclaimed  Simeon,  so  young 
yet  that  he  could  not  believe  in  any  harm  coming 
to  his  brother  Reuben.  "God  is  bound  to  save 
him." 

"Hush,  lad,  hush!"  said  old  Lijah.  "God's 
not  bound  to  bring  him  back;  but  let's  pray  to 
Him  for  Reuben." 

"Wouldn't  it  ha'  been  wiser-like  of  God  Al- 
mighty if  he'd  kept  Reuben  from  going  on  a  fool's 
errand  .'*"  asked  Levi  Hazeldine  with  a  sneer.  He 
had  been  very  silent  while  the  crowd  was  waiting 
for  the  return  of  Reuben  from  his  brave  adventure  ; 
but  this  was  too  good  an  occasion  to  be  missed  for 
impressing  upon  the  simple  folk  their  folly  in  be- 
lieving  in  God  and  trusting  him. 

"Levi,"  answered  old   Lijah,  "there's  nobody 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  35 

here  but  thee  that  'ud  call  it  a  fool's  errand.  There 
isn't  a  soul  about  that  wont  love  Reuben  Hazel- 
dine,  ay,  a  hundred  times  more  than  if  he'd  saved 
himself  and  stayed  skulking  round  the  pit's  mouth 
while  there  was  a  chance  of  saving  his  friends.  I 
believe  he's  followed  his  Lord,  and  won  a  crown  of 
honor  by  what  he 's  done,  whether  he  comes  out  of 
the  pit  alive  or  no.  It  is  n't  every  man  has  such  a 
chance  of  showing  how  he's  learned  to  be  like  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  God  Almighty  was  too  wise  to 
look  to  thee  to  do  such  a  deed  as  this." 

There  was  a  faint,  quickly  dying  laugh  as  Levi 
Hazeldine  walked  away  with  his  head  carried  high, 
and  with  a  contemptuous  smile  upon  his  face.  He 
felt  that  the  sympathy  of  the  people  was  not  with 
him,  and  that  it  would  be  useless  to  argue  his  point 
with  them  just  then.  He  turned  round  for  a  last 
disdainful  glance  at  the  crowd  before  losing  sight 
of  the  spot ;  and  clearly  outlined  against  the  eve- 
ning sky  he  could  see  them  clustered  about  old 
Lijah,  some  kneeling  and  others  standing,  but  all 
bareheaded  ;  while  the  old  man,  with  face  uptunred 
and  uplifted  hands,  was  evidently  speaking  in  ear- 
nest prayer. 

"  Poor  fools !"  sneered  Levi ;  "  as  if  there  was 


36  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

anybody  as  could  hear  them,  or  anybody  as 
cared !" 

He  fancied  he  was  sorry  for  Reuben  ;  but  it 
was  of  no  use  to  be  sorry,  he  said  to  himself.  What 
could  he  do  ?  What  difference  would  it  make  to 
him  ?  The  sun  would  shine  as  brightly,  and  his 
food  would  be  as  savory,  and  his  clothing  would  be 
as  good,  whether  Reuben  was  alive  or  dead.  It 
would  not  alter  in  the  smallest  degree  his  own  ac- 
tual life.  Why  should  he  fret  himself  about  fanci- 
ful things }  about  such  a  thing,  for  instance,  as  a 
man  by  his  own  folly  and  rashness  throwing  away 
his  existence,  and  sacrificing  all  the  sober  reality  of 
life  for  a  mere  fanatical  idea  of  duty.  If  Reuben 
had  only  been  persuaded  of  what  he  himself  knew, 
that  there  was  no  God,  no  immortality,  no  life  bet- 
ter than  or  beyond  the  present,  then  he  would  have 
valued  his  own  precious  existence  too  highly  to 
treat  it  as  a  thing  to  be  held  cheap.     Poor  Reuben  ! 

It  was  a  dreary  night  in  the  little  hamlet.  The 
crowd  about  the  pit's  mouth  did  not  separate  until 
the  long  twilight  had  faded  into  night,  and  the 
birds  had  long  ago  ceased  to  sing  from  the  topmost 
branches  of  the  trees.  They  had  lingered  and  lis- 
tened but  no  voice,  however  faint,  had  called  up 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  37 

from  the  black  depths  of  the  pit.  The  long,  sad 
minutes  brought  no  new  hope.  Again  and  again 
the  shaft  had  been  sounded,  and  the  water  was 
steadily  rising,  slowly,  but  surely.  Before  the  moon 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  clear  cold  gray  of  the  eastern 
sky,  they  all  knew  for  certain  that  Reuben  Hazel- 
dine  had  met  with  death  in  the  dark  galleries  be- 
low the  green  meadows  and  the  wooded  coppices 
upon  which  the  pale  and  mournful  light  was  lying. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  but  to  go  home 
and  to  mourn  over  the  brave,  unselfish.  Christlike 
friend  who  had  so  lately  lived  among  them,  but 
whom  they  had  not  loved  as  they  loved  him  now. 

Even  Abby  felt  that  she  had  not  loved  him  as 
he  deserved  to  be  loved.  She  had  been  carried  in 
a  deathlike  swoon  to  Judith  Hazeldine's  house,  and 
laid  upon  the  bed  in  the  pleasant  attic  under  the 
thatched  roof  which  Reuben  had  been  so  fondly 
preparing  for  her.  When  she  came  to  herself  her 
eyes  opened  upon  the  almost  finished  work,  which 
was  still  waiting,  and  must  wait  for  ever  now,  for 
the  last  touches  of  his  hand.  There  were  the  beau- 
tiful flowers  he  had  bought  for  her  on  the  window- 
sill,  and  the  picture  he  was  just  about  to  hang  upon 
the  wall.     Under  the  window  was  the  garden  where 


38  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

he  worked  in  the  long  summer  evenings  after  his 
sunless  toil  in  the  pit.  His  Bible  and  hymn-book, 
which  they  had  read  in  and  sung  from  together, 
were  almost  within  her  reach,  and  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  for  them.  All  the  night  through  she 
clasped  them  to  her  breast,  or  kept  them  under  her 
cheek,  while  she  was  lying,  tearless  and  speechless, 
on  the  bed,  thinking  of  him  down  below,  not  dead 
yet  perhaps,  but  hopelessly  imprisoned  and  buried 
in  a  living  grave.  Why  had  she  not  known  him 
better  and  loved  him  more  while  he  was  with  her  1 
She  had  been  sharp  with  him  and  trifled  with  him, 
and  made  his  heart  ache  with  her  foolish  contrary 
ways.  Perhaps  God  had  thought  him  too  good  for 
her,  and  so  had  taken  him  away  to  a  place  where 
he  would  be  happier  than  with  her.  Yet  all  the 
while  she  seemed  to  see  him  pacing  the  dark  pas- 
sages underground  in  search  of  his  lost  comrades, 
for  whom  he  had  laid  down  his  life. 

Simeon  had  cried  himself  to  sleep  and  was  still 
sobbing  in  his  troubled  dreams  ;  but  old  Judith  had 
not  even  lain  down  on  her  bed  to  rest  her  weary 
limbs.  Her  heart  was  too  heavy  for  sleep.  She 
had  been  so  much  bound  up  in  Simeon,  her  young- 
est born,  that  she  had  somewhat  neglected  Reuben, 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  K  39 

At  this  very  time  her  mind  had  been  so  fully  en- 
gaged with  the  contest  for  the  Hazeldine  Bible, 
that  she  had  been  too  ready  to  chide  and  thwart 
her  elder  son,  and  to  fume  at  the  changes  he  was 
making  in  the  house  for  his  young  wife.  She  had 
even  opposed  peevish  objections  to  his  marriage, 
though  Abby  was  a  girl  quite  to  her  own  liking. 
Life  had  not  been  as  smooth  and  happy  to  Reuben 
as  it  might  have  been  of  late.  Ever  since  he  had 
lost  his  chance  of  winning  the  Hazeldine  Bible  he 
had  been  looked  down  upon  as  a  poor  scholar, 
chiefly  fit  for  the  harder  and  rougher  work  of  the 
world  ;  while  Simeon  had  been  put  forward  and 
brought  to  the  front  on  every  occasion.  But  what 
a  good  son  her  firstborn  had  been  to  her !  She 
could  not  remember  a  harsh  word  or  an  unkind 
look  from  him,  though  he  could  not  read  the  Bible 
aloud  Hke  a  parson,  as  Simeon  did.  All  his  quiet, 
thoughtful,  patient  ways  came  back  to  her  mind  ; 
his  hard  work  and  his  constant  self-forgetfulness ; 
his  tender  care  of  her  and  his  silence  when  she  was 
blaming  him.  He  was  too  good  for  them  all,  and 
God  had  taken  him.  Her  thoughts  brought  her  to 
the  same  point  that  Abby  had  reached. 


40  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  sun  rose  early,  as  brightly  and  cheerily  as 
though  there  never  had  been  death  or  sorrow  on 
the  face  of  the  earth,  which  grew  light  and  joyous 
under  its  beams.  The  first  rays  smote  on  Abby's 
face  through  the  uncurtained  window,  and  the  call 
of  the  cuckoo  seemed  to  shout  loudly  in  her  ear. 
But  she  neither  saw  nor  heard ;  she  was  at  rest  for 
a  little  while,  gaining  strength  to  bear  fresh  burdens 
of  sorrow. 

It  was  a  perfect  day  for  a  holiday — such  a  holi- 
day as  it  was  to  have  been,  when  old  Judith  threw 
open  the  cottage-door  and  looked  out  on  the  green 
bank  which  hid  the  shaft  of  the  pit  from  her  sight ; 
then  stretched  across  the  narrow  track,  trodden 
through  the  broad  leaves  of  the  coltsfoot,  which 
had  been  made  by  her  sons'  footsteps  as  they  has- 
tened to  and  from  their  darksome  labor.  She 
could  almost  hear  Reuben's  voice  singing,  and  see 
him  striding  along  the  little  path.  Through  the 
long  sombre  hours  of  the  night  her  trouble  had 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y.  41 

been  too  deep  for  tears ;  but  now  that  she  saw  the 
sun  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky  and  the  dew  glisten- 
ing on  every  leaf,  and  felt  the  soft  sweet  rush  of 
the  fresh  air  wafting  past  her  with  the  scent  of 
flowers  borne  upon  it,  a  flood  of  tears  welled  up  to 
her  sunken  eyes.  "  Oh,  my  lad  !  my  lad  !"  she 
cried  out  aloud,  as  if  some  ear  was  listening  to  her 
in  the  morning  stillness.  Her  heart  w^as  aching 
very  bitterly;  yet  after  a  few  minutes  she  went 
indoors  again  calmly,  and  crept  cautiously  and 
silently  up  the  steep  stairs  to  the  attic  where  Abby 
was  lying.  She  had  often  stolen  up  so  to  wake 
Reuben  and  call  him  to  his  work.  The  girl  had 
fallen  asleep  at  last  and  lay  locked  in  a  profound 
slumber,  with  her  cheek  resting  on  Reuben's  hymn- 
book.  "Young  folks  can  sleep  while  old  folks 
break  their  hearts,"  thought  Judith.  Simeon  too 
had  forgotten  his  sorrow  during  the  night,  and,  like 
Abby,  had  been  wrapped  up  and  softly  lifted  away 
from  his  misery.  But  the  old  mother  had  not  been 
released  for  one  instant  from  the  stern  grip  of 
grief. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  neighbors  came 
dropping  in  to  offer  what  help  and  comfort  they 
could  give ;  for   the  business   of   living   goes    on, 

6 


42  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

though  the  joy  of  life  may  have  passed  away.  Some 
of  them  had  been  eager  to  stay  all  night  with 
Judith,  but  she  had  chosen  rather  to  be  left  to  pass 
through  the  first  hours  of  her  anguish  quite  alone. 
The  large,  old-fashioned  house-place,  with  its  wide 
hearth  and  high  mantel  shelf  over  it,  looked  very 
dreary  in  the  sunlight.  The  preparations  for  the 
expected  festivity,  so  suddenly  interrupted,  were 
still  strewn  about  though  the  large  fire  had  gone 
out  and  the  oven  was  cold ;  but  all  Judith's  plenti- 
ful provisions  were  there,  and  it  needed  only  to 
kindle  the  fire  and  burn  fresh  fagots  of  wood  in  the 
big  oven  for  the  feast  still  to  be  ready  at  the  appoint- 
ed time.  Judith  aroused  herself.  Some  of  the 
invited  guests,  who  were  coming  from  a  distance 
and  would  have  several  miles  to  walk,  must  be 
already  on  their  way  no  doubt,  ignorant  of  the 
calamity  that  had  befallen  the  household.  Her  old, 
lifelong  habits  of  thrift,  and  her  strong  sense  of 
the  duty  of  hospitality  to  her  kith  and  kin,  conquer- 
ed her  new  grief.  The  Hazeldines  flocking  from 
different  quarters  would  come  in  weary  and  hungry, 
and  their  wants  must  be  provided  for.  There  were 
friendly  neighbors  only  too  glad  to  help,  and  by-and- 
by  the  same  pleasant  sounds  of  cooking  were  to  be 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y.  /^2> 

heard  in  the  house  as  those  which  had  reached 
Reuben's  ears  at  his  happy  work  the  day  before. 

To  Simeon  and  Abby,  two  young  creatures  still 
strange  to  sorrow,  it  seemed  monstrous  to  think  of 
feasting  or  preparing  a  feast  now  Reuben  was  lost, 
terribly  lost,  in  the  sunless  windings  of  the  pit. 
Simeon  crawled  languidly  away,  with  the  slow  and 
weary  step  of  a  heavy  heart,  to  the  mouth  of  the 
shaft,  where  the  pitmen  were  gathered  to  hear  how 
the  water  was  going  on,  whether  rising  or  falling. 
The  pump  had  been  at  work  all  night,  and  the 
flood  was  not  gaining  ground.  At  the  same  time 
there  was  no  perceptible  lowering  of  the  water  in 
the  shaft. 

The  most  experienced  among  the  miners  did 
not  expect  the  pit  to  be  fit  for  working  under  a 
week,  and  they  shook  their  heads  when  Simeon 
stammered  out  his  question,  "Is  there  any  hope  of 
finding  him  alive  i*"  The  water  had  risen  too  high 
in  the  shaft  to  leave  any  cutting  unflooded.  The 
lad  threw  himself  on  the  ground  and  stretched  his 
head  over  the  edge  of  the  deep,  dark  pit,  where, 
many  fathoms  below  his  wistful  eyes,  there  might 
be  seen  a  faint  glimmer  in  the  blackness,  of  the 
fitful  quivering  of  light  upon  the  waters  beneath 


44  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

which  his  brother  lay  somewhere  in  his  vast  grave. 
He  had  perished  in  seeking  to  save  him. 

It  was  almost  noonday  before  he  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  go  back  home.  When  he  reached  its 
threshold  at  last,  he  found  the  large  old  house-place 
more  closely  filled  with  guests  than  he  had  ever 
seen  it  before.  All  the  Hazeldines  dwelling  within 
ten  miles  had  gathered  together,  dressed  in  their 
best  and  gayest  Sunday  clothing,  many  of  them 
with  Bibles  carefully  wrapped  up  in  clean  handker- 
chiefs, as  though  they  had  come  to  a  religious 
solemnity;  for  were  they  not  there  to  hear  him 
read  his  trial  chapter.^  His  mother  also  had  care- 
fully attired  herself  in  her  best  black  gown  and 
whitest  widow's  cap,  and  sat  in  the  chimney  corner, 
sad  though  tearless,  ready  to  bid  each  new-comer 
welcome,  and  to  listen  to  their  rough  but  well-meant 
words  of  consolation.  Except  to  her,  not  a  word 
was  spoken  above  a  whisper.  The  men  were  all 
lingering  outside  the  house,  in  the  trim  garden, 
while  the  women  talked  together  in  low  undertones. 
There  was  no  mirth,  no  good-humored  jesting,  no 
hearty,  loud-spoken  greeting  as  old  friends  met  one 
another,  such  as  there  would  have  been  if  it  had  been 
Reuben's  wedding-day.     Most  of  the  women  were 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  45 

weeping  as  they  whispered  together  about  Reuben 
and  Abby,  and  not  a  few  of  the  men  furtively  rub- 
bed their  eyes  with  the  back  of  their  horny  hands. 
All  was  hushed  and  solemn,  as  if  the  guests  had 
been  summoned  to  a  funeral.  Abby  was  not  there  ; 
only  one  woman  after  another  mounted  silently  the 
steep  staircase,  and  came  down  again  with  redder 
eyes  and  a  still  more  sorrowful  face  than  when  she 
went  up  to  see  the  broken-hearted  girl. 

Almost  the  last  guest  to  appear  was  Levi 
Hazeldine.  He  was  seen  coming  over  the  pit-bank, 
carrying  under  his  arm  the  treasured  black-letter 
Bible,  which  Simeon  must  win  to-day,  or  the  Hazel - 
dines  must  see  it  borne  away  for  ever  from  the 
land  of  its  first  famous  owner.  It  was  a  point  of 
honor  to  win  that  Bible.  Every  Hazeldine  in  the 
house  looked  to  Simeon,  who  had  shrunk  away  into 
the  darkest  corner  to  hide  his  tear-stained  face  and 
swollen  eyes.  In  the  midst  of  their  grief  for 
Reuben  there  was  a  thrill  of  excitement  and  dread 
at  the  mere  thought  of  the  boy  failing.  Judith 
herself  forgot  for  the  moment  her  firstborn,  as  the 
large,  heavy  old  volume,  with  its  thick  binding  and 
silver  clasps,  was  laid  aside  on  a  small  table,  to  be 
opened  by  Simeon  blindfolded  after  the  meal  was 


46  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

over.  Every  one  felt  that  it  would  be  well  to  have 
their  feast,  a  funeral  feast  though  it  seemed,  well 
over  before  the  die  was  cast.  Sorrowful  men  are 
hungry,  however  real  their  sorrow,  especially  when 
they  have  taken  a  walk  of  ten  miles  since  breakfast ; 
and  Judith's  hospitable  notions  about  a  feast  were 
well  known  among  all  her  kinsfolk.  There  was  a 
general  feeling  of  relief  when  the  signal  was  given 
to  sit  down  to  dinner. 

Judith  did  not  sit  down  to  the  table,  but  Simeon 
was  placed  at  the  head  of  it,  between  old  'Lijah 
and  Levi.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  that  meal  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  He  could  not  swallow  a 
morsel,  though  all  about  him  were  urging  him  to 
try  to  taste  one  dainty  after  another.  Levi  Ha- 
zeldine  distinguished  himself  above  the  others  by 
the  way  in  which  he  plied  his  knife  and  fork  and 
consumed  the  delicacies  set  before  him.  He  was 
too  enhghtened  and  philosophical  to  feel  very  keen- 
ly any  trouble  that  did  not  touch  himself,  and  he 
felt  persuaded  of  the  folly  of  losing  his  appetite 
because  all  around  were  more  or  less  sorrowful. 
His  mind  was  quite  at  ease  also  about  the  Bible  ;  the 
weeping  lad  beside  hirn  would  never  pass  through 
the  trial,  and  he  would  carry  the  old  heirloom  away 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY  47 

with  him.  He  would  rather  have  had  one  of  more 
value  than  a  wornout,  superstitious  old  book  of 
fables  ;  but,  such  as  it  was,  he  still  felt  a  pride  in 
possessing  it.  A  black-letter  Bible,  with  silver 
clasps,  would  be  quite  a  curiosity  wherever  he  might 
go  ;  moreover,  he  might  sell  it  some  day  for  a  tidy 
little  sum,  when  he  was  clear  away  from  the  Hazel- 
dines  and  their  troublesome  claims  upon  it. 

Old  'Lijah  ate  and  drank  but  little  during  the 
meal,  and  when  it  was  over  he  rose  up  in  his  place 
and  laid  a  trembling  hand  upon  the  table  before 
him,  as  if  he  was  about  to  make  a  speech.  There 
was  a  dead  silence  in  the  house,  for  he  had  been 
like  a  father  to  the  two  fatherless  boys  ;  and  Judith 
sat  down  in  her  rocking-chair,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  as  she  listened. 

"Friends,"  he  said,  "it's  a  sore  heart  I  have, 
standin'  here  and  thinkin'  of  him  as  died  for  us  yes- 
terday. He  was  like  my  own  son  to  me ;  he  was 
for  sure.  But  I  was  comforted  by  a  vision  I  had  of 
him  in  the  night,  in  the  dreams  of  my  head  upon 
my  bed ;  and  lo !  I  beheld  him  wanderin'  and  wan- 
derin'  about  down  there  in  the  pit,  seekin'  for  us  in 
the  darkness  ;  and  there  was  One  beside  him  as  he 
could  n't  see,  with  a  face  so  shinin'  it  dazzled  me  to 


48  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

look  upon  him,  only  I  knew  that  it  was  none  other 
than  the  Lord  Christ  himself ;  and  when  I  looked 
back  to  Reuben's  face  I  beheld  it  growin'  brighter 
and  brighter,  though  he  could  n't  see  who  was  walk- 
ing step  by  step  beside  him,  until  my  eyes  were 
dazzled  to  look  upon  him  also.  And  I  awoke  just 
in  the  spring  of  the  mornin',  and  a  voice  was  sayin' 
softly  in  the  chamber,  as  if  angels  were  talkin' 
about  it  one  with  another,  *  Greater  love  hath  no 
man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friends.'  That's  what  Reuben  did  ;  he  laid  down 
his  life  for  us." 

"  I  call  it  throwing  away  his  life  like  a  fool," 
muttered  Levi. 

"Ay,  if  hfe's  naught  but  eatin'  and  drinkin'  and 
toilin'  and  moilin',"  said  old  'Lijah  ;  ''but  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  life  was  love  and  friendship,  and  trustin' 
in  God,  and  strivin'  to  be  like  the  dear  Lord  him- 
self. I  'm  a  world  happier  than  thee,  Levi,  all  here 
bein'  judges,  when  I  sit  and  read  quiet  in  my  house 
a  chapter  about  my  God  and  heaven,  than  thee  in 
the  public  house  drinkin'  thy  money  away  and 
makin'  thy  head  ache.  Ay,  and  my  wife's  happier, 
and  the  house  at  home's  happier  for  it.  If  they 
take  God  and  the  Bible  away  from  poor  folks,  what's 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V.  49 

left  for  them  save  toilin'  and  moilin'  ?  Tell  me,  if 
thou  can !" 

"But  the  Bible  isn't  true,"  answered  Levi. 
"  Look  thee !  what  a  blunder  it  all  was  yesterday. 
The  poor  lad  leaving  everything  to  risk  his  life  in 
the  pit,  and  all  for  nothing,  nothing  at  all.  Why 
did  God  let  it  be  ?  You'd  have  been  the  same,  and 
the  world  'ud  have  been  the  same,  if  he'd  done 
naught  but  smoke  his  pipe  at  the  pit's  mouth  till 
you  came  up  safe  and  sound." 

"No,  no,"  said  old 'Lijah,  "we  should  never 
have  known  how  he  loved  us  ;  nay,  and  the  world 
'ud  never  have  known  what  love  was,  if  God's  dear 
Son  had  never  left  his  home  in  heaven,  if  he'd 
never  have  *  emptied  himself  of  all  but  love,'  as  the 
hymn  says,  and  laid  down  his  life  for  us.  I  see  it 
all  plainer  now.  I  tell  thee,  Levi,  life  's  not  worth 
havin',  for  us  poor  folks  anyhow,  if  there's  no  love 
in  it.  If  God  do  n't  love  us,  and  we  do  n't  love  one 
another,  there's  naught  but  toilin'  and  moilin'  for 
us  till  we  die  like  dogs." 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  Levi,  "  we  wont  argy.  If 
dinner 's  over,  let  the  lad  try  his  chance  for  the 
Hazeldine  Bible  ;  a  fair  chance  and  no  favor." 

There  was  a  solemn  silence,  which  lasted  for  a 
7 


50  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

minute  or  two.  Many  of  the  women  and  some  of 
the  older  men  bent  down  their  heads  and  closed 
their  eyes  as  if  they  were  praying  ;  you  might  have 
seen  poor  Judith's  wrinkled  hands  trembling,  and 
her  gray  head  shaking.  But  there  was  a  gloom  be- 
fore Simeon's  eyes,  as  if  a  sudden  night  had  fallen ; 
he  could  hear,  after  the  silence,  that  some  one  rose 
up  from  the  table  to  reach  the  Bible,  and  there  was 
a  hum  and  murmur,  as  of  indistinct  though  friendly 
words  of  encouragement,  but  he  could  neither  hear 
nor  see  plainly  ;  his  head  was  light  and  giddy,  and 
his  heart  was  beating  fast.  He  could  only  think 
of  Reuben's  failure  some  years  ago,  and  the  disap- 
pointment of  his  mother  and  of  all  the  Hazeldines 
at  the  Bible  remaining  in  the  hands  of  a  professed 
infidel.  There  was  no  need  to  blindfold  his  eyes, 
for  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing. 
As  his  trembling  fingers  groped  for  the  book  he 
heard  old  'Lijah  cry,  "  God  bless  the  lad,"  but  when 
he  had  opened  the  Bible,  and  the  bandage  was  re- 
moved, his  eyes  fell  upon  a  page  of  heavy  black 
characters,  of  which  he  could  not  make  out  a  single 
letter.  His  young  face  flushed  and  then  grew 
deadly  pale.  Where  was  his  brother,  who  should 
have  been  beside  him  upholding  him  by  his  sympa- 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  51 

thy  and  love  ?  Lost !  Reuben  was  lost !  What 
did  it  signify  who  had  the  Hazeldine  Bible  now  ? 
With  a  sudden  loud  and  very  bitter  cry,  which  rang 
in  every  ear,  he  turned  away  and  fled  through  the 
open  door,  to  hide  his  grief  in  the  green  solitude  of 
the  quiet  woods  where  he  had  played  so  often  with 
his  brother. 


52  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY 


CHAPTER    VI. 

For  some  minutes  after  he  had  found  out  the 
terrible  mistake  he  had  made,  Reuben  Hazeldine 
felt  utterly  paralyzed,  both  in  mind  and  body,  by 
despair.  He  stood  perfectly  still,  staring  blankly  be- 
fore him.  He  had  lost  his  own  life  and  saved  no  one. 
The  feeble  gleam  of  his  miner's  lamp  showed  him 
but  too  plainly  that  the  cutting  he  had  entered  was 
not  the  Long  Spinny  siding,  where  his  young 
brother  and  his  comrades  had  been  at  work.  The 
swirl  and  rush  of  the  water  had  bewildered  him. 
They  could  not  be  more  than  a  few  yards  away 
from  him  ;  but  there  was  a  barrier  of  solid  rock 
between  them,  burying  them  apart  in  living  graves. 
No  cry  of  his  could  reach  them  ;  no  answering 
voice  from  them  could  ever  pierce  through  the  aw- 
ful silence  of  this  great  tomb  which  they  shared 
unconsciously  with  him.  They  were  so  far  happier 
than  himself  in  not  knowing  that  he  too  was  per- 
ishing, that  he  had  vainly  sacrificed  his  life  for 
them.     On  the  other  hand  he  would  at  least  be 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y.  53 

spared  the  anguish  of  watching  his  comrades'  slow 
and  lingering  death.  Probably  Simeon  would  die 
first,  and  then  old 'Lijah,  while  Abner,  a  strong, 
full-grown  man,  must  see  them  faint  and  fail  before 
his  time  came.  But  as  for  Reuben,  he  must  per- 
ish by  himself,  quite  alone. 

Why  had  God  allowed  him  to  be  caught  in  this 
snare,  like  some  wild  creature  taken  in  a  trap  }  He 
could  not  blame  himself.  He  had  not  acted  meanly 
or  selfishly.  He  had  obeyed  the  call  of  duty,  as  he 
believed ;  following  the  footsteps  of  his  Lord  and 
Master.  There  had  come  to  him  a  cry  for  help, 
and  he  had  sprung  forward  to  be  the  helper.  Those 
whom  he  had  loved  dearly  had  been  brought  into 
great  peril,  and  there  had  been  no  arm  to  deliver 
except  his  own.  Surely  God  had  looked  to  him  to 
do  this  deed.  Why,  then,  had  He  left  him  to  fail 
and  perish  t 

There  was  no  answer.  Reuben  fancied  he  could 
see  Levi's  mocking  face  and  hear  his  taunting  voice 
ask,  "  Dost  thou  believe  in  a  God  now  V  He  had 
always  been  troubled  and  confused  when  Levi  had 
called  upon  him  to  prove  that  there  was  a  God,  for 
he  was  not  a  clever  man  ready  with  arguments ; 
being  only  a  collier,  toiling  hard  day  by  day,  he  was 


54  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

not  a  learned  man.  He  had  only  felt  sure  in  his 
own  heart  that  there  was  a  God  who  loved  him  as  a 
Father,  a  Saviour  who  had  died  for  him  and  rose 
again  for  him,  and  a  blessed  heaven  of  rest  and  sin- 
lessness  lying  beyond  this  world  of  toil  and  strife. 
But  he  did  not  know  how  to  explain  his  belief  to  a 
man  who  had  no  more  perception  of  such  things 
than  the  deaf  have  of  music  or  the  blind  of  sun- 
light. At  this  moment  Levi's  sneers  and  unbelief 
troubled  him  more  than  they  had  ever  done. 

He  could  have  understood  God's  purpose  if  he 
had  saved  the  others  by  the  loss  of  his  own  life. 
But  his  sacrifice  had  been  thrown  away,  altogether 
wasted.  He  could  not  bear  to  think  of  them  im- 
prisoned as  he  was,  so  near  to  him,  yet  so  utterly 
separated  from  him.  As  soon  as  his  limbs  recov- 
ered some  strength,  he  strode  back  to  the  lower 
level  of  the  cutting,  until  he  stood  neck  high  in  the 
water  and  dare  venture  no  farther,  with  a  vain  hope 
to  gain  the  entrance  to  the  Long  Spinny  siding.  He 
turned  again  and  sat  down  on  the  ground,  burying 
his  face  in  his  hands.  Oh  for  the  sunlight  overhead, 
and  the  shout  of  the  cuckoo,  and  the  scent  of  the 
flowers  in  the  garden  !  What  would  Abby  do  }  his 
poor  girl,  who  would  never  be  his  dear  wife  now. 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y, 


55 


And  his  mother,  who  would  have  two  sons  to  mourn 
over  ?  How  could  they  get  through  life,  with  no 
strong  arm  to  work  for  them  and  no  thoughtful 
heart  to  care  for  them  ?  For  if  there  was  no  God, 
there  was  no  one  to  help  them  and  comfort  them. 
They  were  watching  and  waiting  and  praying  round 
the  pit's  mouth  at  this  moment.  How  long  would 
they  stay  there  with  their  breaking  hearts  1 

Presently  he  heard  his  own  lips  whispering,  al- 
most mechanically,  as  though  it  was  a  mere  habit, 
as  one  speaks  familiar  words  sometimes  uncon- 
sciously. What  had  he  been  saying  to  himself  in 
this  grim  silence  and  soHtude  t  "  Though  he  slay 
me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him."  Why !  he  had  said 
it  a  thousand  times,  from  his  boyhood  upwards. 
What !  could  he  indeed  trust  in  God  even  now, 
when  He  was  slaying  him  .?  Could  he  still  believe 
there  was  a  heavenly  Father,  who  loved  him,  yet 
saw  him  in  his  great  despair,  and  did  not  stretch 
out  his  mighty  arm  and  save  him  by  some  miracle  } 
Had  God  no  angel  he  could  send  to  burst  through 
the  rocky  barriers  that  hemmed  him  in  }  A  feeling 
of  deep  awe  came  over  his  spirit ;  and  he  sank  on 
his  knees,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  as 
though  some  marvellous  thing  was  about  to  come 


56  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY, 

to  pass.  He  could  hear  the  sullen  splash  of  water 
running  through  the  narrow  channels  of  the  pit ; 
but  there  was  no  other  sound,  all  was  profound 
stillness.  Then,  in  his  utmost  heart,  there  seemed 
a  still,  small  voice,  whispering,  "Did  God  work 
any  miracle  to  save  his  own  Son  t  Did  he  send  to 
Christ  one  out  of  his  legions  of  angels  to  take  him 
down  from  the  cross,  though  all  the  host  of  heaven 
would  have  gone  gladly  on  that  errand  1  Did  Jesus 
ask  the  Father  to  do  this  thing  t  No ;  when  he 
cried  to  God,  he  said :  *  Oh,  my  Father !  if  this  cup 
may  not  pass  away  except  I  drink  it,  thy  will  be 
done.'  And  he  had  drunk  the  bitter  cup  to  the 
dregs." 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y.  57 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Reuben's  very  soul  hushed  itself  to  catch  these 
low  whisperings ;  and  a  strange  sense  of  peace, 
which  no  words  can  tell,  took  possession  of  him. 
Yes  ;  he  would  put  his  trust  in  God,  though  He 
was  calling  him  to  die,  perhaps  by  a  slow  and 
lingering  death.  He  lifted  himself  up  from  the 
ground,  and  looked  calmly  about  him.  How  long 
he  might  live  he  did  not  know ;  but  it  was  certain 
his  lamp  would  not  keep  alight  long.  He  would 
spend  the  little  time  left  to  him  in  leaving  some 
record  of  his  trust  in  God,  if  his  dead  body  should 
ever  be  found.  He  had  a  strong  knife  in  his  pocket, 
and  his  pitman's  axe  in  his  hand,  which  he  had 
snatched  up  almost  unawares  as  he  entered  the 
main  gangway  of  the  pit.  Now  he  must  be  quick, 
and  find  some  spot  on  the  rocky  walls  of  his  prison, 
where  he  could  scratch  a  few  words  of  farewell  to 
Abby  and  his  other  dear  ones  before  he  was  left  in 
darkness. 

About  ten  yards  from  the  place  where  he  had 
been   standing,   the  deserted   cutting   came   to   a 

8 


S8  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

sudden  end,  and  his  heart  leaped  with  a  new  hope- 
It  had  been  roughly  filled  up  with  rubble  and  loose 
stones ;  and  he  could  remember  how  his  father  had 
told  him,  long  ago,  that  it  had  been  so  blocked  up 
to  prevent  the  lads  at  work  in  the  pit  from  straying 
away  and  losing  themselves  in  the  old,  abandoned 
tracks.  Where  they  might  lead  he  could  not  tell ; 
but  here  was,  at  least,  something  to  be  done,  and 
he  set  about  it  in  eager  haste.  In  a  short  time  he 
had  made  an  outlet  large  enough  to  creep  through, 
and  found  the  passage  beyond  still  tending  upward, 
and  increasing  in  height,  as  if  it  had  once  been  one 
of  the  main  cuttings  of  the  mine.  It  seemed  a 
long  time  to  him,  as  he  followed  its  windings  wist- 
fully and  anxiously;  but  at  length  he  stood  at  the 
bottom  of  an  old  disused  shaft,  looking  up  to  the 
small  ring  of  daylight  overhead,  which  shone  down 
upon  him  through  a  screen  of  green  leaves. 

How  well  he  knew  that  spot  above  him,  so  far 
out  of  his  reach !  All  around  it  lay  a  tangle  of 
brushwood,  just  now  covered  with  yellow  catkins 
and  young  leaf  buds,  half  opened  to  fhe  sun. 
Little  dingles  and  dells  of  mossy  turf,  strewn  with 
scented  bluebells,  and  wind-flowers,  and  brown  ferns, 
uncurling  from  their  winter's  sleep,  were  hidden 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 


59 


amid  the  knotted  bushes.  How  often  he  and  Abby 
and  Simeon  had  gone  nutting  in  the  coppice  over- 
head !  He  could  even  catch  down  there  the  even- 
song which  the  birds  were  carolling  their  loudest ; 
and  he  knew  well  how  the  young  hares  and  rabbits, 
and  the  squirrels,  were  leaping  and  playing  about 
the  trees  and  grass.  He  stood,  with  upturned  face, 
looking  and  listening  till  the  twilight  fell.  His 
lamp  had  gone  out,  and  he  was  left  in  darkness ; 
but  his  soul  was  delivered  from  the  blackness  and 
bitterness  of  despair.  He  drew  back  again  under 
the  roof  of  the  old  gangway,  and  sat  down  against 
the  side  to  wait  till  morning. 

He  could  not  be  sure  yet  of  deliverance.  There 
was  no  path  in  the  woods  past  the  old  shaft ;  and  it 
might  be  days  before  any  one  passed  that  way. 
But  it  was  spring-time,  when  the  children  of  the 
little  hamlet  would  be  sure  to  be  hunting  for  blue- 
bells and  primroses ;  and  some  of  them  would 
perhaps  be  about  the  next  morning,  throwing 
pebbles  down  the  shaft  to  hear  them  rattle  on  the 
stones  at  the  bottom,  as  he  and  Simeon  had  done 
dozens  of  times,  when  he  was  a  boy.  How  joy- 
fully would  he  catch  the  welcome  sound  ;  and  how 
terrified  the  little  cowards  would  be,  when  they 


6o  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

heard  a  voice  from  the  deep  pit!  Reuben's  heart 
was  no  longer  heavy ;  and  it  did  not  seem  difficult 
to  trust  in  God.  He  was  willing  to  perish,  if  that 
was  God's  will.  But  no  miracle  would  be  needed 
now  for  his  deliverance  ;  no  mighty  angel  need 
descend  to  break  through  the  rock  and  set  him 
free.  A  child  at  play  in  the  woods  might  be  his 
deliverer ;  and  would  not  God  send  a  little  child  to 
his  help,  if  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  live  than 
to  die  ? 

Reuben  slept,  hard  as  his  bed  was,  and  felt  no 
fear  on  awaking.  The  night  was  long,  but  not 
dreary.  Even  the  thought  of  Simeon  and  old 
'Lijah  and  Abner  was  no  longer  so  distressing  to 
him.  They,  too,  v\^ere  all  under  the  care  of  God, 
who  could  do  whatsoever  he  would.  When  the 
morning  came,  and  the  light  shone  again  far  away 
overhead,  he  went  back  to  the  bottom  of  the  shaft, 
and  took  up  his  post,  listening.  The  long,  long 
hours  passed  slowly  by,  and  no  merry  sound  of 
children  at  play  fell  upon  his  ear  ;  yet  his  heart  did 
not  fail.  "Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
Him,"  he  cried,  half  aloud. 

Now  and  then  Reuben  caught  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand  a  few  drops  of  water  falling  from  the  oozy 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY,  6i 

walls  of  the  shaft,  and  drank  them  ;  but  he  scarcely 
felt  hunger.  There  was  a  solemn  gladness  in  his 
spirit,  which  he  had  never  felt  before.  Whether  he 
lived,  he  lived  unto  the  Lord  ;  or  whether  he  died, 
he  died  unto  the  Lord.  Whatever  befell  him,  life 
or  death,  was  the  will  of  God. 

What  time  it  was,  or  how  long  the  daylight  had 
gleamed  overhead,  he  did  not  know  ;  but  at  last  his 
quickened  ears  caught  the  faint  sound  of  sobs  and 
cries,  so  faint  that  he  almost  doubted  whether  he 
was  not  mistaken.  Yet  it  brought  him  fresh  hope, 
and  he  stood  out  into  the  middle  of  the  shaft  and 
called  and  shouted  up  it  loudly ;  using  a  cry  shrill 
and  clear,  which  rang  down  the  narrow  tunnel  be- 
hind him  and  awoke  its  echoes.  He  could  hear  no 
answer  to  them ;  but  he  cried  again  as  soon  as  the 
echoes  were  silent,  and  then  the  ring  of  light  above 
him  was  broken  by  a  small  dark  object,  which  he 
knew  must  be  a  head  stretched  over  the  shaft ;  and 
he  called  as  clearly  as  he  could  :  "  Do  n't  be  afraid  ; 
but  run  and  tell  some  of  the  men  that  Reuben  Ha- 
zeldine  is  here !" 

"  Reuben  1"  cried  Simeon's  voice.  "  Reuben  ! 
is  't  thee,  my  lad  }  Eh  !  wait  thee,  and  I  '11  be  back 
in  a  minute !" 


62  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

Simeon  fled  through  the  sunny  woods,  like  one 
in  terror  pursued  by  some  enemy ;  and  it  was  not 
many  minutes  before  he  rushed,  breathless  and 
speechless,  into  the  midst  of  the  departing  guests, 
who  were  still  lingering  about  Judith  Hazeldine's 
sorrowful  house.  There  had  been  a  keen  and  uni- 
versal disappointment  among  them  when  he  had 
turned  away  from  his  chance  of  winning  the  Hazel- 
dine  Bible,  and  left  it  to  be  borne  away  to  foreign 
lands.  But  now  they  all  gathered  about  him,  start- 
led and  aroused  by  his  sudden  reappearance.  Levi 
paused  in  his  task  of  wrapping  up  the  precious 
heirloom,  which  had  been  passing  from  hand  to 
hand  of  the  regretful  family.  Simeon,  with  his 
hair  falling  over  his  face,  and  uttering  half-sobbed- 
out  syllables  which  no  one  could  understand,  stood 
in  the  midst  of  them  gesticulating  and  beckoning 
wildly,  like  one  gone  out  of  his  mind. 

"  Poor  lad !"  whispered  two  or  three  of  the 
women,  shrinking  back  into  safe  corners  behind 
the  men,  "  it 's  crazed  his  brain  !" 

"  Reuben  !"  he  gasped,  "  in  the  spinny  !  There  !" 
and  he  threw  back  his  arm  in  the  direction  of 
the  coppice.  "  Come  !  Reuben  !  mother  !  Abby, 
come  !" 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY.  6^ 

If  the  lad  was  not  mad,  he  must  have  met  with 
Reuben's  ghost.  Yet  it  was  still  broad  day,  when 
no  ghost  roams  abroad.  What  could  the  lad  mean } 
But  in  a  minute  or  two  Simeon  regained  his  breath, 
and  could  speak  plainly,  though  he  spoke  with  sobs 
and  tears. 

"  Reuben 's  at  the  bottom  of  the  old  pit  in  the 
spinny,"  he  cried.  "  Come  quickly,  and  bring  ropes 
and  things.  Abby,  come  and  run  to  the  old  pit, 
where  thee  and  me  and  Reuben  used  to  play !" 

The  boy  did  not  wait  another  instant,  but  darted 
back  again  to  hang  over  the  low  stone  wall  which 
guarded  the  mouth  of  the  old  shaft,  and  gaze  down 
into  the  dark  depths  below,  where  he  could  not  see 
his  brother.  He  was  half  afraid  he  might  have 
been  deceived  by  his  own  fancy,  but  when  he  called 
again,  Reuben  quickly  answered  him. 

"  Simeon,  lad  !"  he  said,  "  art  thee  saved  }  and 
Abner  .^  and  old  'Lijah  }     Are  all  of  you  saved  .''" 

"  Ay,  all  of  us,  Reuben  i*"  shouted  Simeon,  "  and 
mother 's  comin',  and  Abby ;  I  hear  them  comin' 
through  the  spinny." 

The  tears  rushed  to  Reuben's  eyes,  though  he 
had  not  wept  before.  He  knelt  down  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pit,  to  thank  God.     Every  love  and  joy  in  life 


64  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

seemed  to  have  gathered  new  strength  ;  even  its 
toils  and  perils  looked  brighter  than  they  had  ever 
done.  How  sweet  the  sunlight  was  !  and  how  glad- 
some the  singing  of  the  birds !  His  little  attic  at 
home  was  like  a  palace  to  him.  And  Abby  and 
his  mother  and  all  his  friends,  how  dear  to  him  they 
were !  God  had  given  them  back  to  him,  a  hun- 
dred-fold more  precious  for  the  short  sharp  trial 
of  his  faith  that  he  had  passed  through.  There  was 
no  question  now  of  God  slaying  him  ;  He  was  bring- 
ing him  out  of  his  living  grave,  and  setting  him  to 
walk  again  on  the  earth,  a  better  and  a  stronger 
man — more  like  Christ,  who  had  also  laid  down  his 
life,  and  who  had  come  back  from  the  grave,  for  a 
little  while  to  comfort  and  bless  those  whom  he  had 
loved. 

But  who  could  tell  the  joy  of  every  heart  there, 
when  he  was  drawn  up  out  of  the*  dark  depths  of 
the  pit,  and  stood  among  them  a  living  man  ?  They 
pressed  round  him,  and  whose  hand  was  the  first  to 
grasp  his  it  would  be  impossible  to  say.  It  was 
like  a  dream  of  great  joy  to  most  of  them.  All 
whom  he  loved  were  there.  They  marched  home- 
ward with  him,  in  a  glad  procession,  through  the 
sunny  woods.     The  old  home  had  never  looked  so 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V.  65 

beautiful,  nor  had  the  flowers  in  the  garden  ever 
been  so  sweet. 

"  Friends,"  said  Reuben,  with  a  choking  sensa- 
tion in  his  throat,  "  before  I  take  sup  or  morsel  in 
my  mouth,  let's  kneel  down  and  let  'Lijah  thank 
God  for  us  !" 

They  knelt  down  about  the  men  that  had  been 
saved,  even  Levi  bending  his  knee  for  the  first  time 
for  many  years ;  and  old  'Lijah  laid  his  trembling 
hands  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  swayed  to  and 
fro,  with  heavy  sobs  of  joy  and  thankfulne'ss  break- 
ing from  him.  But  for  these  sobs  there  was  a  deep 
silence  in  the  little  crowd. 

"  Dear  Lord  !  thank  thee !  thank  thee  !"  was  all 
that  old  'Lijah  could  say,  though  he  was  a  prayer- 
leader  at  the  meetings  held  in  his  own  cottage. 
Levi  Hazeldine  caught  himself  saying  "Thank 
thee !"  though  he  knew  there  was  no  one  to  thank, 
and  that  all  had  happened  by  chance  ;  yet  he  al- 
most wished  that  what  these  simple,  ignorant  folks 
believed  was  really  true.  When  the  short  thanks- 
giving was  over,  old  'Lijah  stood  up  again  at  the 
end  of  the  long  oak  table,  and  asked  Judith  to  place 
the  Hazeldine  Bible  once  more  upon  it. 

"  Levi,"  he  said  persuasively,  "  though  thee  and 
9 


66  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

me  do  n't  agree  in  most  things,  maybe  thee  '11  agree 
that  Simeon  hasn't  had  a  fair  chance  of  winnin'  the 
old  Bible.  The  lad  had  n't  a  heart  for  readin'  while 
his  brother  was  lost,  and  given  up  for  dead.  But 
now  the  Lord's  brought  back  Reuben  from  the 
jaws  of  the  grave,  give  him  another  try  for  it.  The 
sun  's  not  gone  down  yet ;  let  him  have  his  eyes 
blindfolded,  and  open  the  book  again.  And  the 
Lord  will  bless  thee,  Levi ;  ay  !  though  thou  knows 
him  not ;  he  will  be  with  thee  in  yon  far  country, 
where  thee  art  goin'  to  spend  thy  substance." 

"  I  'm  willing,"  answered  Levi  shortly. 

"  Come,  then,  Simeon,"  said  old  'Lijah,  laying 
his  hand  on  the  boy's  head,  "and  the  Lord  give 
thee  seein'  eyes  and  an  understandin'  heart,  and 
good  success  in  this  matter.  The  Lord  that  has 
done  great  things  for  us,  may  he  give  thee  this 
blessing  also !" 

Faint  and  hungry  as  Reuben  was,  it  was  he  who 
bound  the  handkerchief  over  the  boy's  eyes,  and 
placed  his  hand  on  the  closed  Bible,  whispering, 
"  God  bless  thee,  lad !"  Judith  and  Abby  stood 
behind  them,  their  faces  still  pale  with  the  past 
sorrow,  though  there  was  gladness  in  their  eyes. 
There  was  no  dread  of  failure  in  Simeon's  heart 


ii|iiiiniiinir'i  i|H|iiiiii'ii',i — I  iiiniinn  i — i|iiMlill||  ||l||l 


iC/' 


^   / 


'  ^   '  I    \/  \^  ^   ' 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V.  67 

now ;  he  stood  for  a  minute  looking  at  the  black- 
letter  page  before  him,  and  then  he  read  out  the 
chapter  and  verse  of  the  book  upon  which  he  had 
opened.  The  Hazeldines  about  the  table  found  the 
place  in  their  Bibles,  and  followed  his  voice  care- 
fully. But  Reuben's  face  flushed,  and  his  heart  beat, 
as  the  closing  verses  fell  upon  his  ear.  They  were 
these : 

"  /  went  down  to  the  botto7ns  of  the  mountains  ; 
the  earth  with  her  bars  was  about  me  for  ever ;  yet 
hast  Thou  brought  up  my  life  from  corruptio7i,  O 
Lord  my  God. 

"  When  my  soul  fainted  within  me,  I  remejnbered 
the  Lord ;  and  my  prayer  came  in  unto  Thee,  into 
Thy  holy  temple. 

"  They  that  observe  lying  vanities  forsake  their 
own  mercy. 

"  But  I  will  sacrifice  tmto  Thee  with  the  voice  of 
thanksgiving ;  I  will  pay  that  that  I  have  vowed. 
Salvation  is  of  the  Lord." 

Simeon's  voice  ceased,  for  the  page  was  ended. 
No  word  had  been  missed,  nor  even  stammered 
over.  He  could  hardly  believe  that  it  was  true 
that  he  had  won  the  Hazeldine  Bible,  until  Levi 
gave  it  a  little  push  towards  him. 


68  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY, 

"There,  lad!"  he  said,  "it's  thine  fairly.  I 
didn't  do  better  when  I  was  thy  age." 

"  Levi !"  said  Reuben  earnestly,  "  would  God  it 
spoke  to  you  as  it  speaks  to  me !  Thou  'rt  going 
far  away  from  thy  kith  and  kin,  and  thou  'rt  without 
God  in  the  world,  and  there's  no  Saviour  for  thee, 
thou  thinkest ;  and  thee  does  n't  know  how  glad- 
some it  is  to  praise  the  Lord,  nor  how  good  it  is  to 
pray  to  him  and  call  upon  him,  like  young  children 
calling  to  their  fathers  and  mothers :  but.  Cousin 
Levi,  will  thee  take  a  gift  from  all  thy  kinsfolk 
here,  if  we  buy  another  Bible  for  thee  to  take  away 
to  thy  far  country }  Maybe  a  day  will  come  that 
thou 'It  read  it  for  our  sakes,  if  not  thine  own." 

"  Ay !  ay !  take  a  Bible  from  us,  Levi !"  cried 
out  all  the  Hazeldines  present. 

"  As  a  sign  and  token  that  we  wish  thee  well," 
added  Reuben. 

"Ay!  ay!  God  bless  thee,  Levi!"  they  cried 
out  again. 

"  I  '11  take  it  and  thank  you  kindly,"  said  Levi, 
in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  Come  again  to-morrow,  all  of  you,"  exclaimed 
Judith,  speaking  in  a  shrill,  high-pitched  tone  of 
excitement,  "  it  shall  be  bought  by  to-morrow  ;  and 


A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V.  69 

Reuben  shall  be  married,  and  we'll  have  another 
feast-day,  now  my  son's  found  again." 

The  sun  was  setting  by  this  time,  and  the  guests 
departed,  leaving  the  little  household  to  feel  in  qui- 
etness their  great  joy.  Old  'Lijah  and  his  wife 
were  the  last  who  said  Good-by,  and  the  moon  was 
rising  over  the  green  coppice  behind  the  cottage, 
when  they  shook  hands  for  the  last  time  with  Reu- 
ben at  the  garden-gate. 

"  It 's  been  such  a  night  and  a  day  as  I  've  never 
worn  through  before  !"  said  old  'Lijah's  wife.  "  Last 
night  it  was  all  weepin'  and  mournin',  and  every- 
thing goin' wrong;  and  to-night  it's  all  joy  and 
gladness  and  singin'  praises,  and  everything  goin' 
right !" 

"Ay,  lass!"  answered  old  'Lijah,  "there's  no 
true  hurt  or  loss  to  them  that  trust  in  God ;  I  be- 
lieve it  and  Reuben  believes  it.  Things  are  goin' 
all  right,  not  wrong.  Isn't  it  written,  'All  things 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God '  ? 
and  again,  'Neither  death  nor  life,  nor  height  nor 
depth,  nor  any  other  creature  shall  be  able  to  sepa- 
rate us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord.' " 


HOW 

APPLE-TKEE  COURJ  W^S  WON 


•  1 


CHAPTER   I. 

Lying  behind  a  row  of  large  warehouses,  which 
front  a  somewhat  busy  thoroughfare  in  London,  is 
Apple-tree  Court. 

Why  it  was  ever  called  Apple-tree  Court  no  one 
could  tell ;  for  long  years  ago,  farther  back  than 
the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,  there  had  been 
no  trace  of  a  tree,  nor  even  of  a  blade  of  grass, 
springing  green  in  the  heart  of  those  smoky  and 
blackened  dwellings.  The  entry  which  leads  to  it 
is  not  more  than  three  feet  wide,  but  the  length  of 
it  is  the  full  depth  of  the  warehouses  between  two 
of  which  it  runs;  a  dark,  low  passage,  where  it  is 
not  pleasant  to  meet  a  person  you  do  not  know. 

The  court  contains  about  a  dozen  houses,  but 


72  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y, 

as  each  house  is  large  enough  to  lodge  as  many  as 
four  families,  provided  they  are  not  so  luxurious  as 
to  require  more  than  one,  or  at  the  utmost,  two 
rooms,  the  population  is  very  nearly  two  hundred, 
and  has  at  times  exceeded  even  that  number. 

•The  inhabitants  are,  however,  constantly  chan- 
ging; old  tenants  leave  and  new  ones  come  in  at  a 
day's  notice,  sometimes  with  no  notice  at  all;  for 
the  rooms  are  let  by  the  week,  and  it  is  not  a  rare 
circumstance  for  a  family  to  make  a  moonlight 
flitting  on  the  last  night  of  their  tenancy  to  escape 
paying  the  weekly  rent,  which  would  be  peremp- 
torily claimed  the  next  morning. 

The  oldest  inhabitant  of  Apple-tree  Court  was 
a  meagre  old  woman  who  had  lived  in  its  most 
miserable  garret  for  several  dreary  years.  She  was 
so  yellow  and  withered  that  one  might  almost 
fancy  that  she  had  been  dead  and  buried  for  some 
time,  and  come  to  life  again  to  resume  her  poor 
task  of  rag-picking  in  the  dust-heaps  collected  from 
the  streets.  The  only  name  she  was  known  by, 
and  which  clung  to  her  amid  all  the  change  of 
neighbors,  was  Old  Rags  and  Bones  ;  and  truly  her 
tattered  clothing  and  bony  skeleton  of  a  frame 
could  scarcely  claim  any  other  title. 


APPLE-TREE   COURT.  73 

The  only  other  permanent  dweller  in  the  court 
was  a  spare,  sallow  man,  with  a  square,  hard  face 
and  a  half-savage  air  which  made  all  the  children, 
and  the  older  inhabitants  also,  quail  a  little  before 
him,  however  bold  and  defiant  they  might  be  with 
other  persons.  The  owner  of  the  court  had  long 
since  allowed  him  a  room  rent  free,  on  consideration 
of  his  putting  a  stop  to  any  moonlight  flittings  on 
the  part  of  the  other  tenants ;  and  as  this  room  was 
on  the  ground  floor  of  the  house  nearest  to  the 
narrow  entry,  it  was  exceedingly  difficult,  not  to  say 
impossible,  to  remove  any  more  bulky  furniture 
than  that  which  could  be  borne  in  the  arms  or  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  fugitives,  who  were  obliged  to 
steal  barefoot  past  his  door;  for  he  seemed  to  sleep 
with  his  ears  awake  to  every  stealthy  sound,  like  a 
watch-dog. 

Without  doubt,  this  man  was  monarch  of  Apple- 
tree  Court.  "King  Jeffery,"  some  of  his  subjects 
called  him.  Upon  the  whole  he  was  popular  among 
them,  in  spite  of  his  keen  watchfulness  on  behalf 
of  the  landlord.  There  was  no  amount  of  drinking, 
quarrelling,  and  fighting  that  he  would  not  wink  at, 
and,  if  it  suited  his  mood,  encourage. 

The  court  lay  so  far  out  of  sight  behind  the 
10 


74  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

warehouses  that  the  police  troubled  themselves  but 
seldom  with  the  brawls  going  on  there.  In  fact, 
when  two  quarrelsome  folks,  men  or  women,  who 
were  threatening  to  disturb  the  peace  of  the 
thoroughfare,  turned  into  Apple-tree  Court  to  settle 
their  differences,  the  police  felt  relieved  from  all 
further  duty.  They  neither  cared  nor  dared  to 
follow  them,  unless  in  a  very  strong  force,  down  the 
dark  entry  leading  to  the  court.  Jeffery  welcomed 
such  visitors,  and  would  cheer  them  on  in  their 
combat  with  hearty  expressions  of  sympathy,  while 
every  window  and  doorway  was  crowded  with  faces, 
looking  on  with  general  delight.  Apple-tree  Court 
was  the  favorite  fighting-ground  of  all  that  part  of 
London. 

In  a  yard  not  very  far  away,  a  mission-house 
had  been  established  for  some  years,  under  the 
active  and  persevering  superintendence  of  a  man 
who  was  of  about  the  same  age  as  Jeffery.  He  was 
spare  and  sallow,  like  him,  and  had  a  square,  deter- 
mined-looking face,  which  would  have  borne  a  de- 
cided resemblance  to  Jeffery's,  but  for  the  grave 
smile  and  gentle  manner  that  had  become  habitual 
to  him.  George  Lancaster,  the  superintendent  of 
the  mission,  was  not  a  rich  man  ;  on  the  contrary, 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  75 

he  had  to  work  steadily  for  some  hours  a  day  to 
earn  his  own  Hving  and  that  of  his  son,  a  boy  of 
about  twelve.  But  every  moment  of  his  leisure 
time  was  devoted  to  the  various  works  connected 
with  his  mission-house,  especially  to  his  ragged- 
school,  to  which  boys  and  girls  flocked  from  almost 
every  slum  and  alley  of  the  neighborhood,  except 
Apple-tree  Court.  He  had  mothers'  meetings,  tem- 
perance meetings,  sewing  classes  for  boys  as  well 
as  for  girls,  prayer-meetings,  and  a  city  missionary 
and  Bible  woman,  all  under  his  own  personal  su- 
perintendence. 

How  he  found  time  to  organize  them  and  keep 
them  all  in  good  order,  was  a  mystery  to  less  ener- 
getic and  less  skilful  persons.  But  under  his  eye 
every  agency  had  worked  well ;  and  he  had  a  power 
of  attracting  to  himself  a  number  of  fellow-workers, 
who  willingly  placed  themselves  under  his  com- 
mand, and  formed  a  little  volunteer  corps  with  him 
as  their  captain  to  wage  war  with  the  ignorance, 
misery,  and  sin  that  tyrannize  over  the  inhabitants 
of  our  London  courts  and  alleys. 

Apple-tree  Court  was  a  great  grief  and  vexation 
of  mind  to  George  Lancaster  and  his  fellow-work- 
ers.    To  pass  the  narrow  archway  and  glance  up  its 


76  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

forbidden  passage,  was  a  daily  pang,  as  he  went  to 
and  fro  to  the  mission-house.  The  name  of  Jeffery 
was  often  sounded  in  his  ears  by  the  dwellers  from 
other  courts,  though  no  one  now  came  from  Apple- 
tree  Court  to  learn  to  read  and  sew,  or,  better  still,  to 
sing  and  pray  in  his  mission-house.  He  could  not 
recollect  the  time  when  it  had  not  been  such  a  den 
of  wickedness,  and  when  its  inhabitants  had  not 
been  so  wretched  and  degraded  as  they  now  were. 
But  the  hardest  thing  to  bear  was  the  fact  that  not 
a  single  child  came  to  school,  nor  even  to  the  chil- 
dren's dinner,  which  was  given  twice  a  week  during 
the  winter  to  the  famishing  little  creatures.  When- 
ever a.  strange,  pinched  face  presented  itself,  he 
never  failed  to  ask  where  the  child  lived,  but 
he  never  heard  the  answer,  *'  In  Apple-tree  Court, 
sir." 

It  was  impossible  to  leave  this  state  of  things 
alone.  George  Lancaster  knew  very  well  that  the 
children  of  Apple-tree  Court  would  be  as  willing 
and  eager  to  come  as  any  others,  if  they  dared.  He 
must  get  a  footing  in  the  court ;  and  a  footing  once 
got  there,  he  must  conquer  it  and  reform  it.  But 
how  to  get  in  }  That  was  the  question.  If  all  that 
he  heard,  or  but  half  of  it,  were  true,  Jeffery  would 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  77 

prove  a  stronger  foe  than  any  he  had  ever  had  a 
tussle  with  yet.  But  he  believed  firmly  that  there 
must  be  some  way  of  conquering  even  such  a  man 
as  Jeffery. 

He  called  a  special  and  private  meeting  of 
about  half  a  dozen  of  his  most  confidential  fellow- 
workers,  most  of  whom  were  living  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  asked  them  to  consider  the  case  care- 
fully, and  to  treasure  up  any  hint  that  might  reach 
them  as  to  the  character  and  habits  of  the  man. 

But  George  Lancaster  could  not  wait  for  this 
slow  and  distant  chance  of  information  as  to  the 
enemy.  As  he  passed  by  the  court  at  least  twice  a 
day,  he  could  not  resist  the  urgent  desire  to  pene- 
trate into  its  dark  recesses,  and  run  the  risk  of  an 
encounter  with  Jeffery.  Accordingly  one  evening, 
when  he  was  on  the  way  to  the  mission-house  with 
his  boy,  he  told  him  to  go  on,  and  ask  whoever 
might  happen  to  be  there  to  open  the  night-school 
at  the  proper  time,  if  he  had  not  come  in  before 
them. 

"And,  Alick,  my  boy,"  he  added,  "if  I  am  not 
there  in  about  half  an  hour,  tell  James  and  Andrew 
to  come  to  the  end  of  Apple-tree  Court,  and  if  they 
hear  a  row  they  had  better  come  on  and  see  what 


78  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

it  is.'  I  'm  going  to  look  about  me.  Say,  *  God  bless 
you,  father.' " 

"  Let  me  come  with  you,  father,"  said  the  boy 
eagerly. 

"No,  no,  my  lad,"  he  answered,  "it's  my  turn 
now ;  it  will  be  yours  when  you  are  older.  Your 
duty  is  to  go  on  to  the  school." 

"  God  bless  you,  father,"  said  Alick,  running  on 
quickly  to  the  mission-house  with  the  news  that 
his  father  had  ventured  into  Apple-tree  Court. 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  79 


CHAPTER    II. 

Mr.  Lancaster  was  just  turning  into  the  alley 
when  a  policeman  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and 
spoke  in  a  tone  of  respectful  remonstrance. 

*'Don't  go  there,  sir,"  he  said  ;  "you're  as  well 
known  as  the  church-steeple'  about  here,  and  better 
by  such  like  folks ;  an'  Jeffery  's  an  awful  rough, 
he  is  indeed,  sir.  He  '11  go  stark  mad  if  he  catches 
sight  of  you  on  his  ground." 

"  His  ground,  is  it  ?"  replied  Mr.  Lancaster ; 
"  well,  I  promise  you  not  to  be  seen  to-night,  if  I 
can  help  it.  I  'm  merely  going  in  to  have  a  look 
round ;  and  I  '11  be  cautious.  But  I  must  get  my 
foot  in  here,  and  mend  the  place,  if  possible.  Why, 
it  is  a  disgrace  to  us  all,  my  man !" 

"  Well,  sir,  so  it  is,"  agreed  the  policeman,  "  I  'm 
free  to  own  it.  But  what  can  we  do,  when  we 
dare  n't  go  in  in  less  force  than  four  of  us  t  There 
are  nigh  on  two  hundred  folks  of  the  rougher  sort. 
I  'd  leave  it  alone,  if  I  was  you." 

"Never!"    answered    Mr.    Lancaster,    turning 


8o  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

down  the  dark  and  narrow  passage  with  a  resolute 
step.  At  the  farther  end  he  stumbled  over  what, 
in  the  darkness,  seemed  to  be  a  heap  of  rags  ;  but 
a  low  and  frightened  voice  spoke  out  of  the  midst 
of  them. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked,  stooping  to  look 
more  closely  at  a  withered  and  wrinkled  face,  only 
just  visible  in  the  gloom. 

" Nobody," was  the  answer  ;  "I'm  doin' no  harm. 
I'm  only  sitting  here  till  I  durst  go  past  Jeffery. 
He's  'ragious  to-night,  and  I'm  scared  to  death  at 
him.  A  lot  of  folks  got  away  last  night  without 
wakin'  of  him,  and  he's  fit  to  tear  everybody  to 
pieces,  he  is." 

"  Come  on,"  said  George  Lancaster,  "  and  I  '11 
see  you  safely  past  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  cried  the  woman  ;  "  I  '11  sit  here 
till  he's  asleep,  if  he  goes  to  sleep  at  all  to-night. 
If  you  took  me  safe,  you  could  n't  stop  with  me,  I 
reckon.  And  you  couldn't  take  me  safe,  as  strong 
as  you  think  yourself.  He  isn't  always  as  bad  as 
this,  you  know.  It 's  because  he  is  so  aggravated 
by  the  folks  gettin'  clear  off.  There's  times  when 
he's  quite  mild  and  kind  like." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "  you  come  to  a  place  I  know  of 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.'  8i 

for  an  hour  or  two,  where  you  '11  be  comfortable ; 
and  I  '11  treat  you  to  a  supper." 

"  Hush  !"  she  answered.  "  Speak  soft  and  tread 
soft,  or  he'll  be  out  on  us.  Ay!  I'll  come,  and 
welcome.  Let's  steal  away  quiet  like,  and  I'll  see 
how  he  is  when  I  've  had  a  bit  of  supper." 

George  Lancaster  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
street,  closely  followed  by  the  woman ;  but  as  soon 
as  they  reached  the  brighter  light  of  the  street 
lamps,  and  she  could  see  his  face,  she.  almost  sob- 
bed with  disappointment. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  never  thought  as  it  was 
you !  I  know  you,  and  he  knows  you.  He 's  swore 
if  any  on  us  as  belong  to  Apple-tree  Court  goes  to 
your  place,  or 's  seen  speakin'  to  you,  he  '11  break 
every  bone  in  our  body." 

"  But,  my  poor  creature,"  said  George  Lancaster, 
"  he  dare  not  do  it.  There  are  the  police  to  protect 
you.     Come  on,  and  do  not  be  afraid." 

"I  durst  n't,"  she  said,  stealing  back  into  the 
darkness  of  the  alley,  while  he  followed  her  in  his 
turn ;  "  the  police  can't  do  nothin'  for  us,  if  they 
wanted.  Oh,  please  go  away  !  He  might  come  out 
upon  us  any  instant.  Oh,  go  away,  and  never  try 
to  come  here  again  !" 

11 


82  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  he  answered ;  "  but  I  shall 
come  again  soon.  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you  and 
the  rest  of  the  people  here  under  this  cruel  bond- 
age and  dread.  Here,  take  this  sixpence,  and  buy 
yourself  some  supper  when  I  am  gone.  Poor  wom- 
an, I  am  very  sorry  for  you." 

His  grave  and  pitiful  voice  sounded  in  her  ears 
strangely.  It  was  so  long  since  she  had  heard  any 
one  speak  kindly  to  her,  that  she  could  hardly  be- 
lieve she  heard  aright.  But  the  sixpence,  which 
she  clutched  in  her  bony  hand,  seemed  real  enough. 

"  You  have  known  something  about  God  .-*"  said 
Mr.  Lancaster  inquiringly. 

"  Ay !  I  knew  something  about  God  when  I 
were  a  girl,"  the  poor  creature  answered,  sobbing; 
"  I  used  to  think  there  was  one  then  ;  but  it 's  so 
long  ago !  I  do  n't  feel  as  there  can  be  any  now, 
only  to  curse  by ;  naught  else." 

"  Poor  woman,"  he  said  once  more,  in  his  pitiful 
voice,  "  there  is  a  God,  and  he  loves  you.  You  will 
know  it  again  soon,  when  we  come  to  teach  you 
about  him,  in  Apple-tree  Court,  and  when  you  can 
come  to  our  place,  and  the  children  flock  to  our 
school,  no  one  making  them  afraid,  as  they  shall 
do,  God  helping  us  !" 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  83 

"  That  '11  never  be,"  said  the  poor  rag-picker  de- 
spairingly. "  If  that  ever  be,  I  shall  be  sure  there 
is  a  God,  like  there  was  when  I  was  young.  But 
now  there 's  nothing  in  the  world  but  fightin  and 
cursin'  and  dyin'.     Hark  !     What 's  that  ?" 

It  was  no  noise  in  the  court,  which  lay  behind 
them  in  darkness  and  silence.  But  the  rag-picker 
trembled  and  shivered  beside  him  for  very  fear,  and 
he  felt  it  to  be  of  no  use  to  talk  longer  with  her. 

"Go  and  buy  yourself  food,"  he  said  gently; 
"  but  mind  !  not  one  penny  goes  to  the  gin-palace." 

"  No,  no  !"  she  answered  ;  "  honor  bright.  I 
know  who  you  are ;  and  I  '11  not  take  your  money 
to  the  gin-palace." 

As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  sight,  George  Lan- 
caster advanced  cautiously  along  the  passage,  and 
entered  the  court.  All  was  still  as  a  graveyard, 
except  for  a  low  suppressed  hum  of  voices  in  a  few 
houses.  Jeffery's  window  was  lit  up,  and  George 
Lancaster  could  see  him  sitting  by  his  fireside,  with 
his  bull-dog  head  slightly  lowered,  as  if  listening 
intently  for  the  least  noise.  His  mouth  was  firmly 
closed,  and  his  eyes  glowed  under  his  shaggy  eye- 
brows. It  was  plainly  no  time  for  arousing  him,  in 
any  way.     George  Lancaster  could  do  nothing  that 


84  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y, 

night  but  let  his  eyes  search  carefully  round  the 
room  for  some  hint  of  Jeffery's  habits,  by  which  he 
might  be  approached.  But  there  was  neither  book 
nor  newspaper ;  no  rude  picture  on  the  walls,  and 
no  plant  growing  on  the  window-sill.  The  only 
things  to  be  seen  were  a  pack  of  cards,  thumb- 
marked  and  greasy,  and  a  large  cup  from  which 
he  had  been  drinking.  George  Lancaster  went 
back  no  wiser  than  he  came  in. 

Yet  Apple-tree  Court  must  be  conquered  and 
reformed. 


AFFLE-TREE  COURT,  85 


CHAPTER    III. 

A  SECOND  council  was  held  at  the  mission-house, 
and  one  thing  was  agreed  upon,  much  against 
George  Lancaster's  will,  though  not  against  his 
judgment.  As  he  was  so  well  known  by  sight,  and 
his  appearance  would  instantly  provoke  Jeffery's 
wrath,  some  stranger  must  be  chosen  to  lead  the 
operations  upon  Apple-tree  Court. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  meeting  with  a 
stranger  to  volunteer  for  the  service,  rough  as  it 
was  likely  to  be.  Two  were  fixed  upon,  who  were 
not  known  at  all  in  the  neighborhood.  They  were 
workingmen,  and  were  to  go  in  their  working 
clothes  on  Sunday  afternoon,  to  open  the  campaign 
as  wisely  and  discreetly  as  possible.  If  they  could 
only  find  one  family  in  the  court  who  would  receive 
them  for  a  few  minutes,  and  allow  them  to  decorate 
their  walls  with  a  good  effective  picture,  that  would 
excite  the  curiosity  and  envy  of  their  neighbors,  it 
would  be  one  step  gained.  The  most  attractive 
pictures  were  found,  and  the  men  were  provided 


86  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

with  a  paste-pot  and  brush  to  paste  them  on  the 
walls  for  the  people,  who,  they  had  learned  by  ex- 
perience, would  seldom  take  the  trouble  to  do  it  for 
themselves,  though  they  were  glad  enough  to  have 
it  done  for  them. 

The  two  pioneers  started  off  the  next  Sunday 
afternoon,  while  the  few  who  were  in  the  secret 
waited  for  their  return  in  alternate  hope  and  fear. 
It  was  no  great  distance  to  the  court,  and  they 
were  not  kept  long  in  suspense.  Their  leaders 
came  back  in  half  an  hour's  time,  with  their  faces 
bruised  and  their  coats  torn,  as  though  they  had 
had  to  fight  their  way  desperately  out  of  the  fray 
into  which  they  had  ventured  with  so  much  cour- 
age. Jeffery  had  stopped  them  at  their  very  en- 
trance, to  demand  their  business  ;  and  after  an  an- 
gry altercation  of  a  few  minutes,  he  had  set  upon 
them  with  two  or  three  more  ruffians  like  himself. 
It  was  in  vain  to  call  for  help  in  Apple-tree  Court, 
which  the  police  shunned,  unless  they  were  in  good 
force,  and  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  they 
had  made  their  escape.  One  of  them  had  seen,  he 
said,  a  miserable  scarecrow  of  an  old  woman  crying 
at  a  garret  window  as  she  looked  down  helplessly 
on  the  battle. 


APPLE-TREE  COURT,  87 

"  Well,"  said  George  Lancaster,  "  we  did  not  ex- 
pect to  take  the  place  as  Jericho  was  taken.  But 
God  is  on  our  side,  and  we  must  conquer.  We 
cannot  give  it  up.  Let  those  who  are  willing  to 
give  up  Apple-tree  Court,  lift  up  their  hands." 

But  not  one  hand  was  lifted  up.  Even  the  men 
who  were  bruised  and  beaten  did  not  raise  theirs, 
though  they  knew  better  than  any  one  how  fierce 
was  the  opposition  that  must  be  overcome.  It  was 
agreed  that  no  further  effort  should  be  made  until 
the  recollection  of  this  fruitless  one  had  faded  a 
little  from  Jeffery's  memory ;  and  in  the  meantime, 
if  any  child  from  the  court  could  be  persuaded  by 
any  means  to  come  to  the  school,  that  would  be 
one  step  gained. 

But  it  proved  to  be  impossible  to  coax  any  of 
the  children  to  attend  the  school.  If  they  came 
once,  they  never  came  again ;  but  were  seen  to 
shirk  away  whenever  they  caught  sight  of  Mr. 
Lancaster  or  his  fellow-workers.  This  was  only 
adding  fuel  to  his  indignation,  and  his  resolve  to 
set  them  free.  To  leave  a  number  of  young  chil- 
dren subject  to  the  tyranny  of  such  a  man  as  Jef- 
fery,  was  not  to  be  thought  of — to  say  nothing  of 
the  poor  woman  to  whom  he  had  promised  to  bring 


88  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  K 

help,  and  a  proof  that  there  was  a  God  who  loved 
her. 

The  next  movement  was  to  be  very  different 
from  the  first.  As  the  workingmen  had  been  treat- 
ed so  brutally,  it  was  decided  that  this  time  two 
gentlemen,  who  came  forward  to  offer  their  services, 
should  enter  the  court  and  proceed  boldly  to  Jef- 
fery's  den,  and  make  such  overtures  as  should  seem 
likely  to  suit  him  at  the  time.  Like  the  other  men, 
they  were  strangers  in  the  neighborhood,  and  Mr. 
Lancaster  did  not  offer  to  accompany  them,  to 
show  them  the  way,  lest  he  should  be  seen  with 
them  and  tidings  of  it  carried  to  Jeffery. 

The  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  had  been  an  offi- 
cer in  the  Crimean  war,  marched  coolly  up  the 
passage  and  knocked  sharply  at  Jeffery's  door.  It 
was  opened  as  sharply ;  but  even  Jeffery  was  a  lit- 
tle thrown  back  by  coming  suddenly  face  to  face 
with  persons  so  different  from  his  own  people. 
They  did  not  give  him  time  to  speak  before  they 
opened  the  conversation. 

"  My  good  friend,"  began  the  officer. 

"  No  friend  o'  yours,"  interrupted  Jeffery,  recov- 
ering himself  quickly,  while  a  blacker  scowl  than 
usual  settled  upon  his  face. 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  89 

"Well,  I'm  a  friend  of  yours,"  continued  the 
officer,  "  and  I  Ve  brought  you  some  good  news,  if 
you  will  let  me  tell  them  to  you." 

"  Folks  like  you  aint  got  no  good  news  for  folks 
like  me,"  answered  Jeffery  sullenly.  "  If  the  Parlia- 
ment 's  took  the  tax  off  'bacca  and  beer,  that  'ud  be 
good  news  for  me;  but  I  don't  reckon  on  ever 
hearin'  news  like  that." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  officer,  "we  bring  you  no 
news  like  that ;  but  we  have  something  to  say  to 
you  worth  your  while  to  hear.  Come,  invite  us 
into  your  house  and  let  us  have  a  little  sensible 
chat  with  you." 

"  Not  a  foot,"  answered  Jeffery,  placing  a  hand 
on  each  door-post  to  bar  them  from  going  in.  "  You 
think  you're  gentlemen,  and  can  walk  in  and  out 
as  you  choose  ;  but  not  in  my  house  and  not  in  my 
court.  I  know  the  whole  lot  of  you,  and  you  're  a 
set  of  hypercrites.  You  sha'  n't  come  cantin'  and 
whinin'  here.  You'd  better  be  off  quick  if  you 
don't  want  a  beatin',  like  that  other  pair  o'  men  got 
some  Sundays  ago.  I  tell  you  you  sha'  n't  come 
here  a-preachin'  and  a-prayin'  without  you  bring  the 
perlice  with  you  to  take  care  of  your  precious  heads  ; 
so  be  off  now,  the  same  way  as  you  came  in." 

12 


90  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

"  I  shall  call  and  see  if  your  neighbors  are  in 
the  same  mind  as  yourself,"  said  the  officer,  turning 
away  with  his  comrade  from  Jeffery's  door. 

"And  I'll  go  with  you,"  he  said,  laughing  scorn- 
fully, "  and  we  '11  see  how  many  '11  give  you  a  wel- 
come. You  are  only  wasting  your  time,  my  fine 
swells." 

"Jeffery,"  continued  the  officer,  with  a  good- 
tempered  patience,  "is  there  nothing  we  can  give 
you,  or  do  for  you,  only  to  get  your  permission  to 
visit  the  tenants  in  this  court }  Just  think  a  mo- 
ment.    It  will  be  to  your  own  advantage." 

"  No,"  replied  Jeffery,  with  an  oath  ;  "  I  've  kept 
this  place  clear  of  you  all,  and  I  mean  to  keep  it 
clear.  You  like  your  own  way,  and  I  like  my  own 
way.  So  be  off  afore  there's  mischief.  There 'd 
have  been  mischief  afore  now,  but  I  do  n't  want  to 
have  the  perlice  on  it ;  and  I  know  there  '11  be  some 
of  'em  watching  over  such  fine  folks  as  you." 

It  was  of  no  use  to  stay  and  argue  any  longer. 
A  knot  of  brutal-looking  men  had  gathered  round, 
only  restrained  from  attacking  them  by  the  fear 
that  some  policemen  had  actually  been  placed  at 
the  entrance  of  the  court,  to  come  to  the  rescue  in 
case  of  a  fight.     It  was  not  prudent,  or  even  possi- 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  91 

ble,  to  force  their  way  through  them  in  the  attempt 
to  enter  any  of  the  other  dwelUngs.  Disappointed 
and  defeated,  they  returned  to  the  street  and  car- 
ried the  news  to  George  Lancaster, 

How  great  his  disappointment  was,  no  words 
can  tell.  He  had  counted  upon  the  frank  and 
pleasant  manner  of  the  officer  and  his  handsome 
face  having  considerable  influence  over  the  wretch- 
ed inmates  of  Apple-tree  Court.  But  now  that  had 
failed,  he  did  not  know  what  to  try  next.  Several 
other  efforts  were  made,  but  with  no  better  success  ; 
and  with  this  result  only,  that  they  put  Jeffery  and 
his  ruffian  companions  more  sharply  on  their  guard. 


92  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y, 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Mr.  Lancaster  had  only  one  son,  at  whose 
birth  the  mother  had  died.  He  was  a  fair-haired, 
sHght,  delicate-looking  boy  of  twelve — the  very  ap- 
ple of  his  father's  eye.  From  the  time  he  had  been 
old  enough  to  hold  by  his  finger  and  trot  along  at 
his  side,  the  child  had  gone  with  him  day  after  day 
to  the  mission -house,  and  taken  a  part  in  all  that 
went  on  there.  He  had  heard  all  his  father's  long- 
ings and  anxieties  with  regard  to  Apple-tree  Court, 
and  his  own  heart  and  thoughts  had  been  busy 
about  it. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "you  are  not  going  to  give 
up  Apple-tree  Court  T' 

"  What  more  can  be  done  T  asked  Mr.  Lancas- 
ter despondently.    "  We  have  tried  every  means  we 

can  think  of,  and  all  have  failed.     What  can  we  do 

?>> 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  give  it  up,"  cried  Alick  eager- 
ly. There  was  a  flush  on  his  face,  which  grew 
deeper  every  minute,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  ex- 
citement. 


APPLE-TREE  COURT. 


93 


"  Father,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  every- 
body says  I  sing  splendidly." 

It  was  quite  true.  He  had  a  singularly  sweet 
and  clear  voice,  and  could  lead  the  singing  at  an}' 
of  the  meetings  in  the  mission-house.  It  was,  as 
his  father  had  taught  him,  one  of  the  talents  in- 
trusted to  him  by  God  to  be  used  in  His  service  ; 
but  Mr.  Lancaster  was  surprised  to  hear  him  speak 
boastingly  of  it. 

"  Alick  .''"  he  said,  questioningly. 

"  I  'm  glad  I  can  sing  splendidly,"  answered  the 
boy,  his  eyes  sparkling  the  more.  "  Suppose  I  go 
all  by  myself  to  Apple-tree  Court,  and  just  sing  for 
them !  They  are  sure  to  like  it ;  and  I  '11  sing  so 
that  they  can  hear  every  word,  and  perhaps  it  will 
do  them  as  much  good  as  a  sermon." 

"  No,  no  !"  exclaimed  George  Lancaster.  "  No, 
my  boy.  I  dare  not  let  you  do  that.  I  cannot  give 
you  permission  to  go  there,  and  alone.     No,  no." 

"It's  the  only  thing  we  haven't  tried,"  said 
Alick  gravely. 

The  idea  took  fierce  possession  of  Mr.  Lancas- 
ter's mind, though  he  tried  his  utmost  to  dismiss  it. 
Whenever  he  heard  his  son's  voice  rising  clear  and 
sweet  amid  the  number  of  other  voices  in  the  sing- 


94  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

ing  of  the  hymns,  he  could  not  help  thinking  of 
Apple-tree  Court,  and  wondering  how  the  people 
there  would  be  affected  by  it.  Surely  no  one  could 
be  so  wicked  or  cruel  as  to  hurt  a  boy  like  Alick, 
if  he  were  simply  singing  in  his  young,  fresh,  ring- 
ing notes,  sweeter  than  the  notes  of  wild  woodland 
birds.  At  last  he  took  counsel  again  with  his  most 
trusty  fellow-workers,  some  of  whom  lived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Apple-tree  Court ;  and  they  de- 
clared with  one  voice  that  even  Jeffery  was  not  bad 
enough  to  hurt  a  boy  like  Alick. 

Yet  it  was  a  hard  struggle  with  George  Lancas- 
ter to  make  up  his  mind  to  send  his  son,  the  dear- 
est and  most  precious  possession  that  he  owned : 
how  dear  and  how  precious  he  had  never  felt  as  he 
felt  it  now.  It  seemed  almost  ridiculous  to  put 
Apple-tree  Court  and  its  wretched  crew  of  sinners 
into  a  balance  with  his  boy.  What  was  the  place 
to  him }  He  owed  nothing  to  it,  and  he  had  done 
all  that  could  fairly  be  expected  from  him.  There 
was  no  need  to  let  Alick  run  any  risk  for  the  sake 
of  it.  No  need !  Alas !  there  was  great  need. 
There  were  the  urgent  wants  of  two  hundred  souls, 
who  were  fast  bound  in  misery  and  sin,  and  groan- 
ing under  an  intolerable  bondage.     There  were  the 


APPLE-TREE  COURT,  95 

needs  of  little  children,  who  were  growing  up  like 
heathen  and  savages.  There  was  the  need  of  that 
wretched  woman,  who  had  said  she  would  believe  in 
God  when  she  heard  about  Him  in  Apple-tree  Court. 

"  God  spared  not  his  own  Son."  Never  had 
these  words  come  home  to  his  heart  as  they  did 
now.  Could  he  then  withhold  his  boy  .-*  Could  he 
forbid  him  from  the  loving  mission  he  was  set 
upon }  Should  he  still  keep  him  back  from  car- 
rying his  message  to  the  people  of  Apple-tree 
Court }  It  was  a  very  hard  and  bitter  trial  for 
George  Lancaster. 

"Alick,"  he  said,  one  Sunday  morning,  in  a 
trembling  voice,  "you  may  go  and  sing  in  Apple- 
tree  Court  this  afternoon." 

"O  father,"  he  cried,  "I'm  so  glad!  They'll 
be  so  pleased,  and  they'll  let  me  go  again  and 
again,  till  perhaps  at  last  they  will  have  you  to 
preach  there." 

"  But  if  they  should  beat  you,  my  son  !"  said  his 
father ;  "  if  they  should  hurt  you  and  ill-treat  you, 
what  shall  you  do  V 

V  God  will  teach  me  what  to  do  when  the  time 
comes,"  answered  Alick  confidently  ;  "  but  I  '11  sing 
them  my  best  hymns  first." 


96  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  K 


CHAPTER   V. 

It  was  a  warm  sunny  afternoon  when  Alick 
showed  his  fair  boyish  face  and  slight  small  figure 
in  Apple-tree  Court.  As  it  was  the  hour  for  church 
service,  and  the  gin-palaces  were  shut,  most  of  the 
men  were  at  home,  lounging  about  the  court,  and 
playing  at  pitch-and-toss  and  marbles  on  the  un- 
even pavement.  Half-naked  children  were  crawl- 
ing about  the  doorsteps,  and  women  were  lolling 
idly  against  the  walls  or  leaning  through  the  broken 
windows.  Alick's  heart  sank  a  little  as  he  saw  the 
dirt  and  misery  and  degradation  of  the  place.  He 
could  see  Jeffery  busy  at  a  game  of  cards  with  three 
other  men  in  his  own  house,  the  door  of  which  was 
open,  so  as  to  command  a  full  view  of  the  court 
and  of  all  who  went  in  and  out.  The  boy  stood  for 
a  few  moments  silent,  with  a  strange  swelling  in 
his  throat.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment  or  two  ; 
for  he  recollected  that  his  father  was  waiting  for 
him  in  the  street,  and  would  hear  him  as  soon  as 
he  began  to  sing.  Suddenly  his  voice  seemed  to 
spring  out  gladly  in  a  sweet  sound  of  song. 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  97 

It  was  so  clear  that  it  rang  through  the  court 
and  made  every  one  hear,  and  so  sweet  that  no  one 
who  heard  could  help  listening.  Alick  had  taken 
off  his  blue  cap  and  stood  bareheaded  near  to  Jef- 
fery's  door,  his  face  all  in  a  glow,  and  his  eyes  glis- 
tening partly  with  unshed  tears.  The  men  left  off 
their  games  and  the  women  their  chatter,  while  the 
children  came  flocking  towards  him  from  all  quar- 
ters. His  heart  grew  lighter  and  braver  as  he  sang. 
The  fears  he  had  felt  when  he  tore  his  hand  from 
his  father's  grasp  and  found  himself  alone  in  the 
dark  alley  had  all  vanished.  Apple-tree  Court  was 
won. 

He  had  sung  one  song  through  ;  and  as  soon  as 
it  was  ended,  without  a  pause,  he  began  his  last  fa- 
vorite hymn, 

"Jesus  loves  me  ;  this  I  know." 

Every  word  of  it  could  be  heard  distinctly ;  and 
Jeffery,  who  had  been  listening  before  with  a  look 
of  pleasure  on  his  hard  face,  sprang  up  in  a  fury. 

"  It 's  another  trick  of  those  hypocrites,"  he 
cried  ;  "  they  've  invented  a  new  way  of  cantin'  and 
whinin' ;  but  I'll  soon  put  a  stop  to  this  one." 

Alick  had  sung  through  the  first  verse  and 
began  the  second,  while  the   people    attended  in 

13 


98  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

silence,  when  a  stone,  hastily  picked  up  by  Jeffery, 
and  hurled  at  him  furiously,  struck  him  on  the  fore- 
head. The  fresh  young  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and 
the  fair-haired  boy  fell  heavily  on  the  pavement.  For 
an  instant  or  two  there  was  a  dead  stillness ;  and 
then  a  low  cry  of  anger  ran  round  the  court,  such 
as  Jeffery  had  never  heard  before. 

As  for  Jeffery,  he  was  himself  struck  with  ter- 
ror. He  had  had  no  intention  to  hit  so  hard  a  blow, 
and  it  alarmed  him  to  see  the  boy  lying  like  one 
dead  on  the  ground.  Alick  had  not  uttered  a  single 
scream  or  cry,  but  had  fallen  in  a  moment ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  his  song  were  still  ringing  through 
the  air.  Could  the  boy  be  dead — killed }  There 
were  children  in  the  court  who  bore  ten  times 
rougher  usage  than  that.  Surely  he  was  only 
frightened,  and  lay  still  to  escape  another  blow. 

"  God  forgive  you,  Jeffery  !"  cried  a  shrill,  crack- 
ed voice  from  a  garret  window.  It  belonged  to  the 
poor  old  rag-picker,  who  had  been  hearkening  to 
AUck's  hymn,  and  thinking  of  the  days  when  she 
was  young  and  believed  in  God.  Jeffery  did  not 
answer  her  with  an  oath,  as  was  usual.  He  walked 
up  to  the  prostrate  boy  and  touched  him  carefully 
on  the  shoulder. 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  99 

"  Come,  get  up,"  he  said,  "  and  be  off,  and  I  *11 
not  hurt  you  again." 

But  Alick  did  not  stir.  The  crimson  blood  was 
streaming  from  his  forehead,  and  his  fair  hair  and 
face  were  stained  with  it  Jeffery  felt  a  strange 
sensation  of  terror  and  grief  a^  he  saw  it.  Once 
he  had  a  boy  of  his  own — the  only  creature  that 
had  ever  loved  him  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  as 
though  Alick  was  his  son  come  back  again,  and  he 
had  killed  him !  He  stooped  and  lifted  him  gently 
in  his  arms,  carrying  him  out  of  the  hot  sunshine 
into  his  own  room,  while  all  the  neighbors  crowded 
round  the  door  without  daring  to  go  in. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  muttered  Jeffery  to 
himself,  as  he  laid  the  boy  down  on  the  hard  bed. 
"  Poor  little  lad.     S  pose  he 's  dead  !" 

Jeffery's  heart  sank  and  his  hands  trembled  as 
he  said  these  words.  He  was  a  coward,  as  most 
cruel  people  are ;  and  the  thought  of  what  must 
follow,  if  the  boy  was  killed,  filled  him  with  dread. 
But  apart  from  his  dismay,  there  was  a  feeling  of 
real  sorrow  and  regret  at  work  within  him.  More 
and  more  did  Alick  remind  him  of  the  day  when 
he  had  looked  for  the  last  time  on  the  white  face 
and  rigid  form  of  his  own  dead  boy,  whom  he  had 


100  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

lost  before  he  had  sunk  into  such  depths  of  wicked- 
ness. Oh,  if  the  last  ten  minutes  would  but  come 
back  again  !  If  this  boy  were  but  standing  again 
opposite  his  door  !  He  should  sing  now  as  long  as 
he  chose,  and  anything  he  chose,  if  he  would  but 
open  his  eyes  once  more  and- look  into  his  face. 

None  of  the  neighbors  had  yet  ventured  over 
the  door-sill ;  but  now  the  old  rag-picker  crept  in, 
and  sidled  towards  the  bed  with  a  broken  pitcher 
of  water  in  her  hand.  Jeffery  took  it  from  her  and 
held  it  to  Alick's  lips,  but  not  a  drop  was  swallowed 
by  him.  Lower  and  lower  sank  his  heart,  and 
greater  grew  his  terror.  He  could  hear  the  crowd 
at  the  door  murmuring  that  the  boy  was  stone- 
dead.  There  was  one  frightful  word.  It  seemed 
spoken  in  a  whisper,  but  it  rang  in  his  ears.  It 
was  "  murder." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  crowd  was  cleft  in  two 
by  George  Lancaster,  who  thrust  himself  through 
it  with  a  terrible  pang  of  dread  growing  stronger 
every  moment.  He  pushed  Jeffery  on  one  side  and 
knelt  down  by  his  boy,  remaining  silent  and  still 
for  a  minute.  "  God  help  me !"  Jeffery  heard  him 
say.  Then  he  looked  up  with  a  face  as  white  as 
Alick's. 


APPLE-TEEE  COURT.  loir 

"  Send  quickly,"  he  said,  "  for  a  doctor,  the 
nearest  you  can  find." 

There  were  half  a  dozen  messengers  eager  to 
run  on  this  errand.  Jeffery  slunk  away  into  a  cor- 
ner and  sat  down  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  chin  resting  on  his  hands,  looking  on  like  one 
stupefied.  But  before  any  doctor  came  Alick  began 
to  speak  in  a  low,  bewildered  tone,  which  could  be 
heard  plainly  in  the  quiet  room,  where  there  were 
only  his  father,  Jeffery,  and  the  poor  rag-picker. 

"  Jesus  loves  me ;  this  I  know,"  said  the  boy 
over  and  over  again  without  ceasing,  till  Jeffery 
caught  himself  saying  the  words  after  him  against 
his  will. 

When  the  doctor  came  he  shook  his  head  grave- 
ly, as  he  examined  the  injury  and  Hstened  to  Alick's 
monotonous  raving.  As  yet  George  Lancaster  had 
asked  no  questions.  He  scarcely  needed  to  do  so ; 
for  he  could  guess  too  well  how  it  had  all  happened. 
The  struggle  within  him  was  greater  than  before. 
Had  he  not  done  wrong  in  allowing  his  son  to  come 
alone  among  these  ruffians }  Ought  he  to  have 
trusted  them  in  any  way.?  Yet  only  one  short 
hour  before  it  had  seemed  both  right  and  wise, 
when  so  many  of  his  poor  people  had  assured  him 


102  ,  A  'NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

that  even  Jeffery  would  never  attack  a  child  like 
Alick.  He  had  prayed  long  and  earnestly  before 
he  could  bring  himself  to  consent.  Yet  now,  if  he 
lost  his  boy,  what  was  he  to  do  ?  Must  he  give 
Jeffery  into  custody  to  await  the  result  ?  The  doc- 
tor was  already  inquiring  how  the  injury  had  been 
caused.     What  was  he  to  say  and  do  } 

"  It  were  me  as  did  it,"  muttered  Jeffery  ;  "  but 
I  never  meant  it  to  be  that  bad.  If  he's  killed,  let 
me  go  to  jail  for  it.  I  'm  sore  sorry  about  it.  If  you  *11 
let  him  be,  we'll  do  all  we  can,  and  I'll  keep  the 
court  as  quiet  as  a  hospital." 

"  You  had  better  keep  him  here  for  a  few  hours," 
said  the  doctor,  looking  round  the  comfortless 
room,  "  and  give  the  fellow  in  charge  at  once,  Mr. 
Lancaster.     He  deserves  it." 

"  No,  not  yet,"  answered  George  Lancaster ;  "  I 
must  think  about  it.     Is  there  any  danger,  doctor  V 

"  More  danger  than  hope,"  replied  the  doctor ; 
"but  I'll  tell  you  more  in  six  hours  from  now." 

He  gave  minute  directions  as  to  what  must  be 
done  before  going  away.  Jeffery,  who  had  slipped 
off  his  heavy  boots,  trode  softly  to  the  side  of  the 
bed,  and  looked  down  on  Alick,  who  was  still  say- 
ing, "  Jesus  loves  me  ;  this  I  know." 


APPLE-TREE  COURT,  103 

"  What 's  the  little  lad  sayin'  that  for  agen  and 
agen  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  he  knows  it  is  true,"  answered  Mr. 
Lancaster.  "  It  is  true  for  us  all,  Jeffery  ;  as  true 
for  you  as  for  him  and  me." 

"  Not  true  for  me,"  replied  Jeffery,  turning  away 
towards  the  door,  while  his  lips  repeated  mechan- 
ically, "Jesus  loves  me;  this  I  know."  He  went 
out  into  the  court  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 
The  crowd  made  way,  supposing  he  wanted  to  try 
to  escape.  But  no  such  thought  was  in  Jeffery's 
head. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  whosoever 
makes  the  least  bit  of  a  row  in  this  place  to-day, 
I'll  break  every  bone  in  his  body.  If  a  baby 
squalls,  I  '11  be  down  upon  it.  So  clear  off,  every 
one  of  you  ;  and  keep  indoors  or  out  in  the  streets. 
But  no  noise  here,  I  say." 

Jeffery  waited  till  every  one  had  disappeared, 
either  into  the  streets  or  within  their  own  homes, 
and  then  he  returned  to  his  room.  He  felt  as  if 
he  could  not  run  away,  however  wise  it  might  be 
to  make  good  his  escape.  George  Lancaster  was 
sitting  by  his  boy  and  speaking  to  him  now  and 
then  in  a  quiet,  soothing  tone ;  but  Alick  had  nei- 


104  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY, 

ther  recovered  his  consciousness  nor  fallen  asleep. 
Not  a  word  was  spoken  to  Jeffery.  He  stole  back 
to  his  corner  again,  and  rested  his  chin  upon  his 
hands,  staring  at  the  white  face  upon  his  bed,  and 
repeating  after  Alick,  as  often  as  he  murmured  the 
words,  *'  Jesus  loves  me  ;  this  I  know." 

It  was  a  dreary  night  for  both  George  Lancas- 
ter and  Jeffery.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  in 
the  court,  except  a  stealthy  footfall  now  and  then. 
Neither  of  them  slept.  Jeffery's  sharp  ears  were 
on  the  stretch  all  the  time,  catching  every  tone  of 
Alick's  voice  ;  and  a  throng  of  troubled  thoughts 
tossed  through  his  brain.  Would  they  hang  him  if 
the  boy  died }  And  if  he  did  not  die,  would  Mr. 
Lancaster  have  him  sent  to  jail  1  It  had  been  one 
of  his  boasts  that  he  had  always  got  off  from  im- 
prisonment, however  bad  he  had  been.  He  would 
get  three  months  for  it,  or  perhaps  more,  as  the 
boy  had  done  nothing  to  provoke  him.  After  all, 
would  it  not  be  better  to  break  his  word,  and  get 
off  while  he  had  the  chance } 

But  he  lingered  on  and  on  until  the  gray  light 
of  morning  dawned  upon  the  comfortless  room. 
Alick  had  been  asleep  for  the  last  two  or  three 
hours,  his  hand  lying  in  his  father's,  whose  eyes 


APPLE-TREE  COURT,  105 

were  never  turned  away  from  him.  Jeffery  himselt 
had  ahiiost  fallen  into  a  doze,  when  suddenly  he 
was  aroused  by  Alick's  low  voice,  so  low  that  ears 
less  quick  could  not  have  caught  the  whisper. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "you'll  forgive  poor  Jeffery  .?" 

"  It's    very  hard,"  answered  his  father. 

"  But  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  going  to  do," 
said  Alick.  "  We  must  forgive  him,  you  know ;  we 
must,  we  must." 

"  Hush !  hush !  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Lancaster, 
"you  must  keep  quiet  and  go  to  sleep  again.  Yes, 
I  forgive  him,  as  God  forgives  me." 

Jeffery  could  not  feel  drowsy  again.  The  tears 
that  had  sprung  to  his  eyes  rolled  slowly  down  his 
face,  and  others  came,  more  and  more  quickly,  until 
he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  wept  bitterly, 
as  he  had  done  when  his  own  son  died.  The  poor 
little  lad's  first  thought  had  been  to  forgive  him  ! 
He  could  never  get  over  that.  If  he  would  only 
get  well  again,  he  should  come  and  sing  as  often  as 
he  liked  in  the  court ;  ay,  and  his  father  should 
come  and  preach  there,  and  nobody  should  hinder 
him.  He  dared  not  ask  God  for  anything  for  him- 
self ;  but  if  he  prayed  to  him  that  the  little  lad 
might  get  well,  perhaps  he  would  not  be  offended. 

14 


io6  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  Y. 

So  Jeffery  knelt  down  and  prayed  in  a  whisper  that 
Alick  might  recover.  When  he  lifted  up  his  head 
and  was  about  to  rise  from  his  knees,  he  saw  George 
Lancaster  standing  before  him,  with  an  outstretched 
hand  and  a  smile  upon  his  weary  face. 

"  Let  me  pray  with  you,  Jeffery,"  said  George 
Lancaster.  "  Thank  God  for  this !  Let  us  be 
friends  now,  we  have  watched  all  night  together 
beside  my  boy." 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Fully,"  he  said,  "  fully  and  freely,  as  Christ  has 
forgiven  me ;  and  as  he  will  forgive  you  if  you  only 
ask  him." 

*'  I  'm  a  very  wicked  man,"  said  Jeffery.  But  at 
this  moment  the  door  was  opened  quietly  and  the 
doctor  entered.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  Alick's 
pulse  and  looked  carefully  into  his  peaceful  face. 

"  All  right,"  he  said ;  "  keep  him  quiet  till  after- 
noon, and  then  we  '11  take  him  home.  He  will  be 
himself  again  in  a  few  days'  time." 

Jeffery  stood  outside  his  door  all  the  morning, 
hushing  everybody  who  went  in  or  out  of  the  court, 
quite  as  much  by  his  own  subdued  and  solemn 
manner  as  by  the  words  and  gestures  he  used  to 
enforce  silence.     Alick  slept  calmly,  awaking  once 


APPLE-TREE  COURT.  107 

or  twice  with  a  full  consciousness  of  where  he  was, 
and  with  a  faint  smile  playing  about  his  mouth  as 
he  looked  into  his  father's  face,  who  was  sitting  be- 
side him  with  a  glad  and  thankful  heart. 

"  Is  Apple-tree  Court  won  yet  ?"  asked  Alick, 
when  he  awoke  first.  Yes ;  it  was  won.  Jeffery's 
opposition  was  at  an  end.  When  the  afternoon 
came  he  begged  to  carry  Alick  to  the  cab,  which 
was  waiting  at  the  entrance  of  the  court,  and  to 
ride  beside  the  driver  to  Mr.  Lancaster's  house. 
After  he  had  seen  Alick  laid  in  his  own  comforta- 
ble bed,  he  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  minute  or 
two,  with  a  dimness  in  his  eyes  and  a  stammer  in 
his  voice  which  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  speak. 

"  You  come  again,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  I  '11 
take  care  nobody  harms  you.  Come  and  sing  to  us 
again.  It's  like  as  if  I  heard  you  singing  all  the 
while  'Jesus  loves  me;  this  I  know.'  You  come 
again  soon." 

It  was  not  long  before  Alick  visited  Apple-tree 
Court  again,  and  Jeffery  stood  at  his  side  to  protect 
him.  In  a  few  months  the  character  of  the  place 
was  altogether  changed.  The  roughest  and  worst 
of  the  tenants  gradually  drifted  away,  leaving  those 
who  could  reconcile  themselves  to  Jeffery's  new  rule ; 


io8  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

for  Jeffery  continued  to  be  the  king  of  the  court. 
The  old  rag-picker  became  one  of  the  most  con- 
stant visitors  at  the  mission-house,  and  believed 
there  was  a  God  still,  as  there  had  been  when  she 
was  young. 

"  It  was  the  little  lad  as  did  it,"  said  Jeffery  one 
day  to  George  Lancaster.  "  There  he  stood  singin' 
like  a  little  angel,  and  when  I  see  him  fall  down 
dead,  as  I  thought,  it  seemed  all  at  once  as  if  God 
himself  could  n't  look  over  that.  And  I  could  n't 
have  believed  He  would,  if  I  had  n't  heard  him  say, 
all  in  a  whisper,  *  Father,  you  '11  forgive  poor  Jeffery. 
He  did  n't  know  what  he  was  going  to  do.'  That 
made  me  think  as  maybe  God  could  make  up  his 
mind  to  forgive  me  ;  for  He  knew  I  did  n't  mean  to 
do  it." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Lancaster,  "  it  was  the 
same  plea  our  Saviour  urged  upon  the  cross  :  *  Fa- 
ther, forgive  them ;  for  they  know  not  what  they 
do.'" 


THE  WORJH  op  A  B^BY. 


It  was  a  bad  day  for  the  Ledburys  when  John 
Ledbury  quarrelled  with  his  master,  Dr.  Reed. 

Everybody  in  the  country  round  knew  Dr.  Reed, 
with  his  compassionate,  benevolent  face,  and  his 
bald  head,  with  its  fringe  of  white  hair.  There  was 
scarcely  a  house,  perhaps  not  one,  in  a  circuit  of 
several  miles,  which  he  had  not  entered  in  some 
time  of  sickness  and  sorrow,  and  where  he  had  not 
been  made  welcome  as  one  who  brought  comfort 
and  help.  Rich  and  poor,  mansion  and  cottage, 
were  alike  to  him.  He  was  as  anxious,  and  as 
kind,  and  a  trifle  more  sympathizing,  at  the  bedside 
of  a  poor  patient,  as  ever  he  was  beside  a  rich  one 
who  could  pay  him  a  golden  fee.  "  Good  Doctor 
Reed,"  the  country  people  called  him,  with  one 
consent. 


no  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

Then  how  did  it  come  to  pass  that  John  Led- 
bury quarrelled  with  such  a  master  ?  Dr.  Reed 
lived  in  a  house  at  the  entrance  of  the  village ;  a 
small  house,  yet  quite  large  enough  for  a  man  with 
neither  wife  nor  children.  But  if  the  house  was 
small  the  garden  was  unusually  large,  for  Dr.  Reed's 
hobby  was  a  love  of  flowers  ;  and  many  a  time  he 
had  worn  an  old  hat  or  great-coat  long  after  it  was 
shabby,  that  he  might  spend  the  money  upon  some 
costly  plant,  or  some  improvement  in  his  garden. 
John  Ledbury  filled  the  post  of  both  groom  and 
gardener  to  him,  and  as  he  had  been  under-garden- 
er  at  Lord  Huntington's,  of  Huntington  Hall,  he  nat- 
urally concluded  that  he  knew  a  great  deal  more  of 
the  proper  treatment  of  flowers  than  his  master.  He 
was  a  quietly  obstinate  man,  with  an  unshaken  con- 
fidence in  his  own  cleverness  and  skill,  and  not  at 
all  inclined  to  yield  his  opinion  to  anybody's.  Late 
one  autumn  he  left  out  some  rare  plants,  after 
Dr.  Reed  had  ordered  him  to  remove  them  to  the 
greenhouse,  and  they  had  every  one  perished  in  a 
sudden  frost.  No  doubt  the  doctor  was  more  an- 
gry than  he  need  have  been,  and  spoke  more  sharp- 
ly than  he  should  have  done ;  but  John  Ledbury 
did  a  very  foolish  thing  when  he  threw  up  the  sit- 


THE   WORTH  OF  A  BAB  Y.  in 

uation,  with  a  vow  never  to  speak  to  his  old  master 
again. 

That  was  a  very  hard  winter  for  the  Ledburys. 
John  had  no  idea  that  he  should  remain  long  out 
of  work,  for  he  expected  that  a  sober,  clever  man 
like  himself  would  be  snapped  up  immediately. 
But  none  of  the  gentry  in  the  neighborhood  wanted 
a  gardener  just  then,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  leave 
his  own  pretty  cottage,  which  stood  just  at  the  oth- 
er end  of  the  village  from  Dr.  Reed's.  His  wife, 
Rachel,  had  had  a  baby  only  a  few  weeks  before  the 
quarrel,  and  Dr.  Reed  had  been  as  attentive  to  her 
as  if  she  had  been  Lord  Huntington's  lady.  But 
she-  had  not  got  up  her  strength  again,  and  now 
she  fretted  sorely  over  the  matter,  sometimes  ta- 
king John's  part  and  sometimes  the  good  doctor's. 
It  was  very  trying  to  her  to  have  John  hanging 
about  the  house  all  day,  with  nothing  to  do  except 
to  find  fault  with  the  way  everything  was  done. 
But  before  long  worse  troubles  than  that  came,  for 
all  their  money  had  melted  away  like  snow  in  sun- 
shine, and  still  nothing  was  to  be  heard  of  in  the 
way  of  regular  employment.  Now  and  then  Led- 
bury had  a  day's  work  in  the  gardens  of  the  farm- 
ers about ;  but  they  did  not  require  much  orna- 


112  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

mental  gardening,  and  their  own  laborers  were 
skilful  enough  for  planting  potatoes  and  beans. 
It  came  at  last  to  John  having  to  make  many  a 
dreary  pilgrimage  to  the  nearest  town,  where  there 
was  a  pawnbroker's  shop,  carrying  there  in  secret 
bundles  everything  that  could  be  spared  from 
home.  Every  day,  and  sometimes  twice  or  thrice 
a  day,  Rachel  Ledbury  saw  the  good  doctor  ride 
past  the  cottage,  with  his  face  steadily  turned  away 
from  it,  instead  of  turned  towards  it  with  his  kindly 
smile.  Sometimes  it  made  her  feel  angry,  but 
oftener  it  made  her  heart  ache  and  the  tears  start 
to  her  eyes,  for  she  felt  low  and  sad,  and  a  word  or 
two  from  him  might  have  put  her  right  again.  As 
it  was,  John  brought  her  some  wonderful  pills  from 
the  town,  which  were  to  make  her  quite  well  and 
strong  again  if  she  took  plenty  of  them,  but  their 
effect  was  very  slow  indeed,  and  she  seemed  rather 
to  grow  worse  than  better.  Not  that  there  was 
much  the  matter  with  her,  except  care  and  anxiety 
and  insufficient  food,  all  resulting  from  John  Led- 
bury's quarrel  with  his  master. 

Six  months  out  of  work  is  a  terrible  trial,  espe- 
cially through  the  winter,  when  fire  and  light  cost 
so  much,  and  warm  clothes  are  needed,  and  good 


THE   WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  113 

food  is  more  necessary  than  in  the  summer.  The 
baby  had  suffered  least  so  far,  for  at  any  rate  Ra- 
chel could  keep  it  warm  in  her  arms ;  but  Susie, 
who  was  nine  years  old,  had  to  be  kept  from  school 
because  she  had  no  shoes  to  put  on,  nor  any  decent 
frock  to  wear.  She  was  not  a  child  that  fretted  or 
complained  much ;  but  she  could  not  hide  how  the 
cold  made  her  shiver,  or  how  the  frost  brought 
chilblains  on  her  feet.  Ledbury  could  not  shut  his 
eyes  upon  all  this ;  but  he  had  made  a  solemn  vow 
never  to  speak  to  his  old  master  again,  and  he 
would  rather  die  than  humble  himself  to  ask  to  be 
taken  on  again. 

"  Rachel/'  he  said  one  day  in  the  spring,  "you'd 
not  mind  about  leaving  the  old  place,  would  you?" 

She  did  shrink  from  it  very  much,  for  she  had 
lived  all  her  life  in  the  village,  and  all  her  friends 
were  there,  only  of  late  John's  surly  temper  had 
driven  them  away  from  the  house.  Rachel  was  not 
altogether  sorry  for  that,  for  she  did  not  wish  them 
to  see  how  bare  and  empty  it  was  getting ;  and  now 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  go  away  among  stran- 
gers, than  come  down  to  beggary  where  everybody 
knew  her,  though  a  sob  rose  in  her  throat  as  she 
thought  of  it. 

15 


1 14  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

"  Could  you  get  work  somewhere  else,  John  ?'* 
she  asked. 

''  Oh,  no  fear  of  that,"  he  said  confidently,  "  if 
we  get  away  from  a  place  where  nobody  knows 
nothing  about  flowers.  There  are  scores  of  places 
where  they  'd  be  glad  of  a  man  like  me." 

"We'd  better  go  to  them,  then,"  answered  Ra- 
chel sadly. 

"Well,  I  ought  to  go  first,"  said  John,  "and 
choose  a  place  that  '11  suit  us.  I  might  be  away  a 
week  or  two  before  I  'm  settled,  for  I  'm  rather  par- 
ticular. It's  not  often  that  a  man  like  me  has  to 
seek  for  work." 

It  was  the  beginning  of  April  when  Ledbury 
set  out  to  seek  for  work,  resolved  to  take  none  but 
in  some  nobleman's  or  gentleman's  grounds.  He 
had  had  enough  of  gardening  for  a  master  who 
would  interfere  and  order  about  his  plants,  and  he 
was  determined  not  to  enter  such  a  situation  again. 
He  did  not  tell  any  of  his  neighbors  where  he  was 
going,  or  upon  what  errand.  He  had  to  leave  his 
wife  and  children  with  no  more  than  two  shillings 
to  provide  them  with  food  and  fuel  till  his  return  ; 
but  his  pride  was  strong  enough  to  make  him  cer- 
tain that  in  two  or  three  days  at  the  farthest  he 


THE   WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  115 

would  meet  with  a  place  that  would  be  exactly  fitted 
for  him. 

The  baby  was  nearly  eight  months  old  now, 
and  had  learned  to  crow  and  laugh  at  him,  and  nes- 
tle in  his  arms  with  contented,  cooing  sounds  which 
he  loved  to  hear.  Somehow  or  other,  the  faces  of 
his  wife  and  Susie  seemed  a  continual  reproach  to 
him,  they  were  so  sad  and  dull,  with  no  cheerful 
smiles  upon  them ;  but  the  baby's  face  never  re- 
proached him.  Besides,  from  being  at  home  all 
day,  he  had  nursed  it  and  carried  it  about  more 
than  any  of  his  other  little  ones,  who  had  all  died 
very  young,  except  Susie.  So  the  baby  was  dearer 
to  him  than  any  of  the  others  had  been,  and  it  was 
a  greater  trouble  to  part  with  it  when  he  left  home. 

It  would  have  been  a  sharp  and  bitter  sorrow 
to  John  Ledbury  if  he  could  have  looked  in  at  his 
home  six  days  after  he  left  it.  The  baby  had  been 
taken  ill  the  very  day  he  went,  and  had  scarcely  been 
out  of  its  mother's  lap  since.  The  soft,  tiny  limbs 
were  wasted  away  almost  to  a  skeleton,  and  the  little 
face  had  never  once  brightened  into  a  smile,  such 
as  had  always  greeted  him  when  he  came  into  the 
cottage.  Rachel  had  not  dared  to  send  for  Dr. 
Reed,  but  had  tried  to  doctor  it  herself,  trying  first 


ii6  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

one  thing  and  then  another  recommended  to  her  by 
the  neighbors.  But  the  baby  was  sinking  rapidly, 
seldom  opening  its  little  eyelids,  and  turning  away 
from  any  food  she  could  give  it.  She  began  to 
think  it  must  die  like  the  other  babies,  whom  even 
Dr.  Reed  could  not  save  from  death ;  and  she  felt 
as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Susie,"  she  said,  "  have  you  ever  dropped  your 
courtesy  to  the  doctor  T' 

"  He  never  looks  at  me,  mother,"  answered  Su- 
sie ;  "  he 's  always  looking  at  something  else  on  the 
other  side." 

Rachel's  heart  sank  within  her,  but  she  could 
not  give  up  any  chance  of  her  baby's  life. 

"  Susie,"  she  said,  after  thinking  it  over  a  long 
time,  "  put  on  mother's  shawl  and  boots,  and  run  up 
to  the  doctor's,  and  tell  him  baby  is  dying,  like  all 
the  rest.     Perhaps  he  will  come." 

Very  quickly  was  Susie  dressed  and  at  Dr. 
Reed's  house;  but  she  was  a  good  deal  afraid  of 
speaking  to  the  doctor  after  all  she  had  heard  her 
father  say  against  him.  She  lingered  outside  the 
surgery  door,  without  courage  to  knock,  until  the 
clock  of  the  village  church  chimed  eight  in  the 
evening.      Then    she    knocked    one   single    timid 


THE   WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  117 

knock,  and  Dr.  Reed's  pleasant  voice  called  out 
"  Come  in." 

It  took  both  Susie's  hands  to  turn  the  large 
brass  handle  of  the  surgery  door ;  but  as  soon  as 
she  had  opened  it  and  entered  with  a  beating  heart, 
she  saw  the  doctor  s  face  smiling  upon  her  from 
behind  a  counter,  where  his  assistant  was  making 
up  medicine  under  his  directions. 

"  Well,  Susie,"  he  said,  in  a  kindly  tone,  which 
quite  reassured  the  trembling  child,  "  what  are  you 
come  for  to-night .?" 

"  Oh,  please,  sir,"  she  answered,  "father's  gone 
away  to  find  some  work,  and  mother  says  baby  is 
dying,  like  all  the  rest,  and  perhaps  you  will  come." 

"  To  be  sure  I  '11  come,"  answered  Dr.  Reed  ; 
"  run  home  to  your  mother,  and  tell  her  I  'm  coming 
in  a  minute." 

It  was  not  many  minutes  before  the  doctor  was 
standing  by  the  chair  where  Rachel  sat  with  her 
child  on  her  lap,  his  kindly  face  looking  down  care- 
fully and  pitifully  at  it.  It  lay  quite  still,  stretched 
out  stiffly,  as  if  it  were  already  dead,  with  its  eye- 
lids closed,  and  its  thin,  wasted  arms  falling  feebly 
by  its  side.  Rachel  took  one  of  the  tiny  hands  in 
hers,  a  hand  that  seemed  almost  ready  to  fall  to 


ii8  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

pieces,  and  she  looked  up  mournfully  into  the  doc- 
tor's face. 

"  She  moans  all  night,  sir,"  she  said,  as  the  little 
creature  uttered  a  weak,  plaintive  cry  when  she 
touched  its  hand. 

"  How  long  has  she  been  ill  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Six  days  and  five  nights  now,  sir,"  said  Rachel, 
her  voice  faltering,  and  her  tears  falling  upon  the 
baby's  hand ;  "  I  've  never  slept  for  her  moaning. 
It  goes  to  my  very  heart ;  and  we  not  able  to  do 
anything  for  her !" 

"Why  did  you  not  send  for  me  sooner.?"  he 
asked  with  some  displeasure. 

"I  daren't,  sir,"  she  answered,  "you  and  John 
have  fallen  out  so,  and  you  never  looked  this  way 
when  you  went  past  the  house,  and  I  thought  you 
would  n't  consent  to  come  unless  John  humbled 
himself ;  and  I  did  n't  like  to  send  for  any  other 
doctor  from  the  town." 

"  I  'd  sooner  all  the  plants  in  my  garden  had 
died,"  said  the  doctor,  "  than  that  the  child  should 
have  been  kept  in  pain  like  this." 

He  took  it  out  of  her  lap,  and  carried  it  to  the 
table,  where  a  candle  was  burning.  The  thin  little 
eyelids  opened  for  a  moment,  and  the  baby  looked 


THE  WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  119 

up  at  him  with  a  faint  glimmer  of  a  smile  upon  its 
face.  Rachel  was  beginning  to  sob  hysterically, 
and  he  went  back  to  her,  but  did  not  give  her  the 
baby  again. 

"You  are  quite  wornout,"  he  said,  "and  you 
must  go  to  bed.  One  of  the  neighbors  must  sit  up 
with  the  baby  to-night.     Where 's  John  gone  to  .^" 

''I  don't  exactly  know,"  she  answered,  between-^ 
her  sobs;  "he's  looking  for  work,  and  he  doesn't 
know  baby 's  ill.  I  've  been  fretting  so  all  the  win- 
ter, and  that's  hurt  her.  She'd  never  moan  in  that 
way  but  for  my  fretting.  It  seems  hard  for  a  little 
thing  to  suffer  like  that  for  my  fault.  But  I  could 
not  help  fretting,  sir,  with  all  the  best  of  the  things 
going  to  the  pawnshop,  and  Susie  kept  from  school, 
and  all  of  us  cold  and  hungry.  I  can't  sleep  of 
nights  for  thinking  of  it." 

"Well  you  must  go  to  bed  to-night,"  he  said, 
"or  you'll  be  ill  too." 

"  I  could  n't  leave  the  baby,"  she  cried,  feverish- 
ly ;  "  there  isn't  any  of  the  neighbors  I  could  trust. 
There 's  no  one  like  a  mother,  sir  ;  I  could  n't  leave 
her." 

"  Could  you  trust  me,  Rachel  V  asked  Dr.  Reed. 

She  looked  at  him,  holding  the  child  so  tenderly 


I20  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  K 

and  comfortably  on  his  arm,  with  his  face  full  of 
compassion  and  trouble  for  them  both.  She  could 
scarcely  believe  she  had  understood  him  rightly, 
but  as  she  did  not  answer,  he  went  on  speaking. 

"  If  you  can  trust  me,"  he  said,  "  I  will  sit  up 
with  it  myself  till  morning,  and  I  dare  say  I  can 
find  something  to  do  it  good.  It  is  partly  suffering 
from  my  fault,  Rachel ;  if  I  had  looked  at  you  as  I 
used  to  do,  you  'd  have  sent  for  me  at  once.  Poor 
little  lamb." 

"  Oh,  I  'd  trust  you  with  all  my  heart,"  cried 
Rachel,  as  he  laid  the  baby  again  on  her  lap,  and 
hurried  home  for  the  medicine  that  was  needed. 

In  an  hour  from  that  time  everything  was  pre- 
pared for  the  doctor  to  sit  up  all  night  to  nurse 
Ledbury's  baby.  A  little  bed  had  been  made  with 
a  pillow  on  a  chair  near  the  fire,  for  the  baby  to  lie 
upon,  if  it  grew  easy  enough  to  be  laid  down.  A 
tub  had  been  placed  ready  for  a  bath,  and  the  kettle 
was  hung  on  a  hook  over  the  fire.  Susie  and  Rachel 
were  asleep  in  the  room  up  stairs,  where  the  moth- 
er could  hear  quickly  if  the  doctor  called  her, 
through  the  rough  boards  that  formed  the  floor. 
But  before  they  went.  Dr.  Reed  bade  them  kneel 
down  with  him,  while  he  prayed  aloud. 


THE  WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  121 

"  Lord  Jesus,"  he  said,  "  who  hast  gathered  so 
many  lambs  into  thy  fold,  and  carried  them  in  thy 
bosom,  look  down  upon  this  little  one,  in  thy  great 
love  and  pity.  We  want  it  to  live ;  we  should  be 
sorely  grieved  if  it  were  taken  away  from  us.  Spare 
it  to  us,  good  Lord,  if  it  is  thy  will.  The  child  is 
suffering  for  our  sins.  Oh,  forgive  the  sins,  and 
take  away  the  suffering. 

"And,  Lord,  give  us  the  same  trust  in  thee, 
that  this  poor  mother  has  in  me.  She  is  willing  to 
confide  her  little  child  to  me,  and  lie  down,  and 
sleep,  feeling  sure  that  I  shall  do  all  I  can  for  it. 
Let  us  trust  ourselves  to  thy  love  and  care,  know- 
ing that  thou  art  doing  all  things  well  for  us,  and 
that  there  can  be  neither  weariness,  nor  neglect, 
nor  unkindness,  nor  want  of  wisdom  in  thee.  Thou 
art  watching  over  us,  as  I  am  about  to  watch  over 
this  helpless  child.  Thine  arms  are  under  us,  and 
we  are  resting  in  them,  as  this  moaning  baby  lies 
in  mine.  Ah  !  Lord,  we  moan  and  suffer  also,  but 
thou  art  not  wearied  out  with  us. 

"And,  Lord,  give  us  the  grace  to  forgive  one 

another  even  as  thou  forgivest  us.     We  have  been 

nursing  hard  thoughts  one  against  another  in  our 

hearts;  hard  and  heavy  thoughts,  never  thinking 

16 


122  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY, 

that  this  little  lamb  would  have  to  bear  part  of  the 
burden. 

"  Remove  the  burden  from  the  child,  and  help 
us  to  be  more  heedful,  lest  more  sins  of  ours 
should  be  visited  upon  the  innocent." 

An  hour  later  everything  was  hushed  in  the 
cottage,  except  the  low  wail  of  the  baby,  which 
was  still  lying  in  the  doctor's  arms,  as  he  trod  soft- 
ly to  and  fro  in  the  kitchen,  his  heart  full  of  pity 
and  anxiety  for  it.  He  had  tried  the  medicine  he 
had  brought,  but  still  it  neither  slept  nor  revived. 
What  a  frail,  small  thing  it  seemed,  to  be  so  full  of 
suffering !  Its  pitiful  moaning  was  the  only  lan- 
guage it  had  to  tell  of  its  pain,  and  every  sound  of 
it  smote  upon  the  doctor's  ear  and  heart.  To  and 
fro  he  walked,  cradling  it  in  his  arms,  and  watching 
its  pinched  face  to  see  the  first  change,  either  for 
death  or  life,  that  should  come  upon  it.  Overhead, 
Rachel  was  sleeping,  for  he  no  longer  heard  the 
creaking  of  the  wooden  bedstead,  as  she  tossed 
restlessly  upon  it.  No  sound  from  without  or  with- 
in broke  upon  the  stillness.  There  was  nothing  to 
listen  to,  except  that  low,  plaintive,  sobbing  cry  of 
the  baby. 

The  dawn  was  just  stealing  softly  into  the  sky. 


THE  WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  123 

when  John  Ledbury'turned  into  the  village  at  the 
farthest  end  from  his  cottage.  He  was  very  miser- 
able, for  he  had  been  on  the  tramp  all  night,  and  he 
was  footsore  and  tired.  All  his  money  was  gone, 
and  he  had  even  had  to  ask  assistance  from  some 
fellow-gardeners.  He  felt  very  bitter  against  his 
old  master  as  he  passed  by  the  house,  and  looked 
up  to  the  bedroom  window,  with  its  warm  curtains 
and  tight  casement  shutting  out  the  east  wind, 
which  blew  keenly  through  and  through  his  old 
wornout  coat.  He  had  quite  failed  in  finding  work, 
though  he  had  tried  for  it  farther  and  farther  from 
home,  and  offered  himself  on  lower  wages  than  he 
had  ever  taken  before.  There  was  little  comfort  in 
coming  back  with  such  news  to  Rachel  and  Susie, 
who  would  so  well  understand  what  his  failure 
meant.  But  the  baby  would  know  nothing  against 
him  ;  and  after  he  had  spent  all  his  bitter  feelings 
against  Dr.  Reed,  his  thoughts  flew  to  the  baby,  as 
he  trudged  slowly  and  wearily  along  the  village 
street,  where  every  house  was  still  closed,  and  only 
the  farmyard  cocks  were  beginning  to  crow  and 
the  birds  to  chirp  under  the  eaves. 

He  was  not  long  in  gaining  his  own  cottage, 
and  he  stopped  at  the  gate  for  a  minute  looking  at 


124  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY, 

it,  and  thinking  it  was  not  worth  while  to  wake  up 
Ruchel  to  hear  what  he  had  got  to  tell.  But  though 
the  blind  was  drawn  across  the  window  down  stairs, 
it  was  quite  plain  there  was  a  light  inside,  and  a 
column  of  gray  smoke  rose  up  lazily  into  the  morn- 
ing air  from  the  chimney.  Rachel  was  up  very 
early,  he  thought,  and  how  surprised  she  would  be 
to  see  him,  for  he  had  not  written  to  her  since  he 
left.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  he  had  been 
away  all  the  week — a  long  week  of  disappointment 
and  mortification.  But  he  was  obliged  to  face  her 
sooner  or  later,  and  he  would  get  it  over  and  go  to 
bed  to  rest  himself.  He  trod  quietly  up  the  garden- 
path,  and  lifted  the  latch  very  noiselessly.  Then 
he  stood  still  upon  the  threshold,  thunderstruck 
and  unable  to  believe  his  own  eyes. 

There  was  a  fire  burning  upon  the  hearth  and  a. 
candle  lit  upon  the  table ;  and  it  was  evident  they 
had  not  just  been  kindled.  But  instead  of  Rachel 
busy  about  the  house,  there  was  his  old  master, 
whom  he  had  supposed  comfortably  in  bed,  sitting 
on  the  rocking-chair  with  the  baby  in  his  arms  and 
his  white  head  bent  tenderly  over  it.  Dr.  Reed 
was  growing  a  little  deaf,  and  he  did  not  hear  the 
click  of  the  latch  as  Ledbury  opened  the  door ;  so 


THE  WORTH  OF  A  BABY,  125 

he  did  not  turn  round  and  see  him.  John  heard 
the  baby  moan,  and  saw  the  doctor  hush  it  and  rock 
it  as  patiently  as  Rachel  herself.  Was  it  possible 
that  the  baby  could  be  ill,  and  Dr.  Reed  sitting  up 
all  night  with  it }  He  shut  the  door  quickly,  for 
the  keen  air  was  blowing  in;  and  then  the  doctor 
turned  his  head  and  lifted  up  his  hands  to  warn 
him  to  be  as  quiet  as  possible.  John  stole  across 
the  kitchen-floor  noiselessly. 

"  Master,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  and  forgetting 
his  vow  never  to  speak  to  him  again,  "  what  is  it  .^" 

"  The  baby  has  been  ill,  and  is  ill  now,"  he  an- 
swered, in  the  same  low  tone ;  "  but  I  am  getting 
some  hopes  of  it,  John." 

*'  O  master !"  he  cried,  falling  on  his  knees  before 
him  and  the  child,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  master, 
can  you  ever  forgive  me  V 

"John,"  said  Dr.  Reed,  "I  am  to  blame  as  well 
as  you.  I  was  too  hasty.  Neither  of  us  ever 
thought  how  the  worst  of  it  would  fall  upon  your 
wife  and  the  children.  Dear,  dear  !  To  think  I  've 
been  a  Christian  man  all  these  years  and  never 
learned  that  all  our  mistakes  and  follies  and  sins 
bring  trouble  to  the  little  innocent  creatures.  Why, 
John  !    the  sins  of  the  fathers  cannot  help  bemg 


126  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DAY. 

visited  on  the  children,  and  every  blunder  we  men 
make  falls  on  them.  I  have  been  learning  that  les- 
son to-night.  If  God  were  to  deal  with  us  as  we 
deal  with  one  another,  we  should  be  in  a  miserable 
plight." 

*'  Master,  forgive  me,"  said  John  ;  "  I  wish  I  'd 
put  those  plants  into  the  greenhouse." 

"  I  'd  rather  all  the  plants  in  my  garden  had 
perished,"  repeated  the  doctor,  "than  that  one  of 
these  little  ones  should  suffer  as  baby  has  done. 
*  Ye  are  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows,'  the 
Lord  said  ;  and  this  child  is  worth  more  than  all 
my  garden.  Come,  John,  I  forgive  you  with  all  my 
heart ;  and  I  hope  better  times  are  coming  for  you." 

"  I  cannot  find  any  regular  work,"  owned  John, 
though  he  was  ashamed  to  say  it.  "  I  'm  afeared 
times  will  be  bad  for  us  yet  awhile,  master." 

"There's  your  old  place,  if  you  wish  to  come 
back,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  have  not  got  any  one  to 
suit  me  yet." 

John  Ledbury  could  not  speak,  for  the  sobs  in 
his  throat,  which  he  was  trying  to  keep  down.  His 
face,  which  was  leaning  over  the  baby,  was  working 
with  many  mingled  feelings  ;  and  just  at  that  mo- 
ment the  little  child  lifted  up  its  eyes  and  a  smile 


THE   WORTH  OF  A  BABY.  127 

came  upon  its  face,  as  if  it  knew  him,  even  in  its 
pain.  Ledbury's  proud  spirit  was  quite  broken 
down. 

"  Master,"  he  said,  with  the  tears  rolHng  down 
his  cheeks,  "  I  've  been  an  obstinate  man  ;  but  I  '11 
never  speak  another  word  against  you,  order  how 
you  choose  in  the  garden.  Will  the  child  get  over 
it,  master .?" 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  the  doctor,  looking  care- 
fully at  the  small  face  ;  "  thank  God  !  it  has  got  the 
turn,  I  believe.  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  spent  this  night  as 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  would  have  done  in  my  place, 
and  it  is  the  most  blessed  feeling.  Christianity 
means  being  like  Christ,  each  one  of  us,  in  our  own 
station.  We  must  both  try  to  remember  that,  John 
Ledbury." 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  Dr.  Reed  walked  home 
through  the  village,  tired  and  sleepy,  but  happier 
than  he  had  been  since  the  quarrel  ;  while  John 
Ledbury  told  his  wife  all  that  had  taken  place  be- 
tween them.  He  no  longer  felt  weary  and  care- 
worn, and  inclined  to  hide  himself  from  his  neigh- 
bors ;  but  when  the  church-bells  rang  for  morning 
service,  he  took  Susie  by  the  hand,  and,  in  spite  of 
her  shabby  clothes  and  his  own  threadbare  coat,  he 


128  A  NIGHT  AND  A  DA  V. 

went  to  the  church  to  thank  God  for  the  change  in 
himself  and  his  circumstances.  Dr.  Reed  was 
there,  too,  in  his  pew  near  the  pulpit,  but  he  looked 
down  the  aisle  and  smiled  as  John  Ledbury  and 
his  little  girl  came  in.  Once  again  he  caught  his 
eye  and  smiled  significantly.  It  was  when  the 
clergyman  opened  the  Bible  and  read  out  his  text : 
"  Let  all  bitterness  and  wrath  and  anger  and 
clamor  and  evil-speaking  be  put  away  from  you, 
with  all  malice  ;  and  be  ye  kind  one  to  another, 
tender-hearted,  forgiving  one  another,  even  as  God 
for  Christ's  sake  hath  forgiven  you." 


t— 

-170 

,g 

02 

§1 

^    TO 

URN 

m  S 

^  O 

! 

C  a 
m 

CIRCUL 

202  Ma 

lO 

=  5 

ION 

Libr 

a 

-g 

■n 

> 

^ 

-H 

m 

CO 

Z 

-H 

1 

<'.-S 


m818;^0 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


